


A Bullshit Tale, Part the First: Heroes From Villains

by dragonmactir



Series: A Bullshit Tale [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins, Warren Zevon (songs)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-13 07:38:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 33,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11180109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonmactir/pseuds/dragonmactir
Summary: The Hawke family is rescued from dire circumstances by someone they never would have expected -- Teyrn Loghain.  He tells them that it wasn't he who fled the battlefield at Ostagar, but an impostor.  He's going back to wreak some vengeance and save his daughter and the nation.  But when he does, who wins the battle?





	1. Chapter One

They overstayed their welcome and the Hawke family knew it.  They waited in Lothering well past the time most had fled, hoping that Carver, the one soldier among them, would arrive alive and safe from Ostagar despite the losses the army had taken, and then when he arrived he didn’t want to leave, and a battle of wills ensued.  Finally they had no choice.  The darkspawn were upon them.  They barely made it out of the village alive.  The three siblings, brother Carver and sisters Felicity and Bethany, had to fight hard to protect themselves and their mother Leandra as they tried to find a way through the horde.  Around a blind corner, they found a redheaded warrior woman and a dark-haired templar fighting their own battle against the darkspawn.  The templar was badly wounded, so they joined forces to help them, despite the fact that both Hawke sisters did their fighting with illicit magic.

 

When the darkspawn were gone, the templar turned his attention to the mages, wound all but forgotten.  “Apostate, keep your distance,” he said.

 

Bethany made a noise in her throat that sounded like derision.  “I can’t believe it.  Darkspawn and now a templar?  I thought they all _abandoned_ Lothering.”

 

“Wesley,” the redhead admonished.  “Darling, these people saved us.”

 

“These women are apostates.  The Order dictates,” the Templar, Wesley, said, stepping forward, a little uncertainly now.

 

_“Wesley,”_ the redhead said again.  “The Maker understands.”

 

“The Order dictates…”

 

Felicity, the elder sibling amongst the three, and the strongest personality of them all, stepped in front of her sister and took a threatening stance.  “Wesley, please,” the redhead said again, and the Templar backed down at last.

 

“Of course,” he said, looking anywhere but at the girls.

 

“Thank you, Wesley,” the redhead said.  She addressed the Hawkes directly.  “I am Aveline Vallen.  This is my husband Ser Wesley.  We can hate each other when we’re safe.  For now, we’re with you.”

 

“How bad is that wound?” Felicity asked, dropping her threat pose on the instant.

 

“I think my sword arm is a loss, even with healing,” Wesley said.

 

“Then you will have mine, as always,” Aveline said, giving him loving green eyes as she shored him up on his lame side.

 

“Which way do we go from here?” Felicity asked.

 

“North is cut off,” Aveline said.  “The bulk of the horde is in that direction.”

 

“Then we’re surrounded,” Carver said, almost panicked.  “The Wilds are to the south, that’s no way to go.”

 

“If the options are ‘south or die,’ I say we go south,” Felicity said, and set off in that direction.

 

When you’re hemmed in on all sides, fleeing is difficult.  They fought their way through a multitude of darkspawn until they thought they might be in the clear, but that was not the case.  It was no small wonder that they shortly fled directly into a small horde of the nasty creatures. Led by an ogre.  The ogre wanted to kill.  It spotted Leandra, the mother of the family Hawke.  Bethany was all that stood in the way.

 

“Maker give me strength,” she said under her breath as she cast a simple fireball spell, the best offensive spell she knew, in what could only be a vain attempt to defend her mother.  The ogre reached out to grab her and crush her in its grip…

 

…and someone came crashing into it, howling an old-time Rebel Yell from Maric’s Rebellion.  Bethany was knocked off her feet and the ogre stumbled a step or two, and the banshee-person, a man unfamiliar to any of them at this point, clung to it as a timberjack clung to the bole of a giant tree.  He continued to make his ungodly noise while he drove what looked to be a darkspawn corrupted longsword repeatedly into the ogre’s face, with a certain malicious gusto that could not be denied.  Even when the creature fell he continued to stab it, in a wild frenzy of murderous lust, until finally he hopped off, wiped some of the black bloody gore off his narrow, hatchet-carved face, and turned to face what remained of the horde.  Felicity, Carver, and Aveline were doing their damnedest to keep them at bay, and after regaining composure Bethany joined in as well, but even with the two mages it was an uphill battle.  The man muscled his way to the fore and assumed a belligerent stance that screamed “Come and get me if you dare” and let loose a battle cry that knocked everyone -- human and darkspawn -- off their feet.  The man stood there with his long black hair sticky with blood, war braids coming undone, patchwork clothes torn and bloody, pale grey-blue eyes wild and angry, and when the darkspawn regained their feet, they fled.

 

The man’s stance relaxed and he dropped to his ass on the dirt as the others were cautiously rising to their feet.  “That won’t hold them off for long,” he said, in a harsh voice that trembled with exhaustion.  “But we’ve got maybe a minute or two to catch our breath.  Does anyone have a water skin they can share a sip from?  I’ve been running on dry since Ostagar.”

 

“I have some,” Felicity said, and passed him her skin.  “Thank you for helping us.  My sister might have died if not for you.”

 

He drank a small sip from the skin, recapped it and handed it back with a quick thanks.  “No problem.  I hate those damn things.  Get a certain satisfaction from killing them, even though it hurts like hell.  Don’t know why you’re headed south; the whole damn horde is that way.”

 

“North is cut off, too.  We’re bloody surrounded,” Aveline said.  She peered closely at the man.  “You’re a damn fine warrior, Ser.”

 

“Yeah, that’s what they tell me.  Didn’t help a tinker’s damn at Ostagar.”

 

“There’s only one person I’ve ever heard of who can actually repel enemies with a war cry, and you look an awful lot like him,” she continued.

 

“I should.  I _am_ him.”

 

“But… General Loghain left the battlefield.  He took his men back to Denerim _days_ ago,” she stammered out, green eyes wide.

 

“That wasn’t me.  Somebody slipped me a pretty potent mickey the night before the battle.  First thing I remember is waking up two days ago bound hand and foot stripped bare in the middle of a camp swarming with goblin faces.  I don’t know how I survived.  Dumb luck or a guardian angel.  I lean toward dumb luck.  I’d like to know just exactly what happened while I was out, but I think the questionnaire will have to wait.  Darkspawn will be upon us sooner rather than later.”

 

He climbed to his feet.  He seemed to be in considerable pain.  “Are you injured, My Lord?” Felicity asked.

 

“Two or three places, nothing too significant.  Nothing that anyone need worry about.  Mostly just tired.  It’s been quite the run.  I’m sure your brother and Lieutenant Vallen can sympathize.  And don’t call me that, I hate it.”

 

“How did you know my -- ” Aveline began, but she was cut off by an encroaching horde of darkspawn.  They readied themselves for the assault and began their defense.  Together they were almost an army unto themselves, but they were hopelessly outnumbered and surrounded on all sides.

 

“There’s no end to them,” Carver said, backing into the middle of the clearing with his blade held out before him.  Aveline made a bulwark of herself on one side of the group while Loghain, though shieldless, attempted to do the same on the other.  Things were clearly grim.  Then…

 

…a roar, quite as loud as Loghain’s battle cry, but coming from some distance above them.  They all looked up, and saw on the rock above a mighty High Dragon unfurl its wings and swoop down upon them.  It let out a blast of flame that roasted the darkspawn where they stood, then swooped back and roasted the darkspawn on the other side.  It came in for a landing on the burning grass around them but as it did, a light suffused its body and it _changed,_ turning smoothly from dragon into elderly -- but powerful -- woman.  Her white hair was tied back in swoops that resembled a dragon’s horns.  Her garments were made of dragon skin and dragon scale and decorated with raven feathers.  As she walked toward them, dragging the burning corpse of a darkspawn part of the way, her yellow eagle eyes scanned them with a species of half-interested curiosity.

 

Felicity Hawke stepped towards her, keeping her family back.  “I don’t know what we would have done if you hadn’t saved us,” she said, keeping her tone polite even as she remained wary.

 

The woman looked at her for a moment, a strange thin smile playing about her lips, and then said, _“I_ do.  You would have perished.  You still may.”  She then turned and took a few steps away.

 

Bethany stepped forward.  “You can’t just leave us here!” she cried.

 

The woman half-turned and looked at her, then fully turned and took a few steps toward them.  “Can I not?  I spotted a most unusual sight: A mighty ogre, vanquished.  Who could be capable of such a feat?  But now my curiosity is sated and I find myself not even surprised.  And you are _alive_ , for the moment.  Is that not enough?”

 

“I thought I recognized you,” Loghain said.  “I have to say, Old Woman, you look a bit different than last time we met.  Not so old and creaky.  Strange, given the number of years between then and now.”

 

“And you look much older and creakier, Loghain Mac Tir, not that it makes much of a difference to you in the long run.  After the exhibition you gave them, I felt I needed to impress these young people,” she said with another thin smile.

 

“Appearing as a dragon was a good, healthy start.  I suppose it was _you,_ then, at the battle of River Dane?” he asked, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

 

Her strange smile broadened a sliver, but still did not reach her eyes.  “If it were, would that change anything?”

 

“I suppose not.  Thanks for the assist, I guess.  If it _was_ you.”

 

“You’ve lightened up since that young man with the huge chip on his shoulder.”

 

“Depends on who you ask.”

 

She laughed, a harsh, unpleasant sound.  “You know, I may actually be starting to like you, Mac Tir.”

 

“Charmed,” he said with something of a sneer.

 

“Ah, _there’s_ the snarky young man I remember,” she said, no longer smiling.  She turned her attention back to Felicity.  “And what of you, child?  I can be quite sure enough where he is going.  He will run full-tilt back into battle with all the demons aligned against him.  Where are _you_ going, hmm?”

 

“We have to get to Kirkwall, in the Free Marches,” Carver said, unbidden.

 

“Kirkwall?  My, but that is quite the voyage you plan.  So far, merely to flee the darkspawn?”

 

“Our home was destroyed, and we have no place else to go,” Felicity said.  “We have family in Kirkwall, and a home waiting for us.”

 

“I daresay Loghain will persuade you not to go there despite that,” the woman said.  “Still, you will get there in the fullness of time, and for that, I may have a use for you.”

 

She turned away again and spoke to herself.  “Is it fate or chance?  I can never decide.”  She turned back.  “It seems fortune smiles on us all today.  I can help you yet.”

 

Bethany spoke up.  “Should we trust her?  I don’t even know what she is.”

 

_“I_ know what she is,” Aveline said, close by her injured husband Wesley’s side.  “The Witch of the Wilds.”

 

“Some call me that.  Your friend Loghain might have called me the ‘Woman of Many Years,’ if he were prone to such courtesies.  I have other names.  Flemeth.  Asha Belannar.  ‘An old hag who talks too much.’”  The witch chuckled deep in her throat.  “But no matter.  I offer to help you in exchange for a small delivery to be made whenever you arrive in Kirkwall to a place not far out of your way.  Would you do this for a ‘Witch of the Wilds’?”

 

“What do the rest of you think?  Should we trust her?” Felicity asked.

 

“Wesley is injured.  We’ll never make it past the darkspawn,” Aveline said.

 

Wesley coughed.  “If you need to, leave me behind,” he said.  His eyes were clouding over already from the corruption of his wound.

 

“No!  I said I would drag you out of here if I had to, and I meant it,” Aveline said.

 

“Just one second -- what is this delivery, and why don’t you care when it gets delivered?” Loghain asked, pale eyes narrowed.

 

“When you’re as old as I am, patience becomes something beyond a mere virtue,” the witch replied.

 

He shrugged and turned to the group at large.  “She helped Maric and I, long ago -- for her own reasons, not that I ever figured out what those reasons were.  I’d say it’s better to be on her good side than her bad side.”

 

“Ha!  You _have_ learned!” the witch said.

 

“I suppose we have no choice,” Felicity said.

 

_“We_ never do,” the witch said.  She stepped forward and presented the young woman with a small trinket.  “There is a Dalish clan camped on the side of Sundermount outside Kirkwall.  Take this amulet to them and present it to their Keeper, Marethari.  Do this, and any debt between us is paid in full.”

 

“You have my word.”

 

“Very well, then.  I will get you to Gwaren, where the darkspawn are not particularly interested in going, thanks to the dangers of the Brecilian.  Not to say that they won’t go there, but probably not en masse, not at first.  From there you can take a ship, if you are lucky enough to find one still taking passengers, or take the Passage to Denerim if you’re brave or stupid enough.  With Loghain in your party, you’re probably both.  Before I take you anywhere, however, there is another matter.”  She looked at Wesley and took a step toward where he lay against the stones.

 

“No, leave him alone,” Aveline said, standing.

 

“What has been done to your man is within his blood already,” the witch said, looking remarkably sympathetic.

 

“No.  You lie,” Aveline said aggressively.

 

“She’s right, Aveline,” Wesley said.  “I can feel the corruption burning inside of me.”

 

“We have to help him!” Felicity said.

 

“The only cure _I_ know of is to become a Grey Warden,” the witch said.

 

“And they all died at Ostagar,” Aveline said, falling to her knees beside her husband again.

 

“Not all, but the last are now beyond your reach.”

 

“The only cure you know of?  Really?” Loghain said, looking at the witch shrewdly.  “Nothing else you know of in all your years and all your wisdom?”

 

“The Blight is unique.  It goes beyond my powers,” the witch said.

 

“Aveline, listen… the corruption is a slow… death.  I can’t…” Wesley said, coughing.

 

“You can’t ask me this.  You can’t.”

 

Loghain walked up behind her and put one big hand on her shoulder.  She hung her ginger-haired head, then looked with some pleading in her green eyes at Felicity, who knelt down nearby and said, “He’s your husband, Aveline.  _I_ can’t decide his fate.”

 

Aveline nodded slowly, steel creeping into her gaze.  Wesley drew his own dagger and put it into her hand.  “Be strong, my love,” he whispered.  They shared a long last look, and Aveline plunged the dagger straight through his armor and into his heart.  He died with a final gasp and she made sure to close his eyes.

 

“Without an end, there can be no peace,” the witch said.  “Your struggles have only just begun.  Now.  To our bargain, before the darkspawn amass in this vicinity again.”

 

The witch raised her arms above her head and a strange light rose up in a tornado around her and grew to encompass the entire party.  A sickening lurch to the stomach, and they were in an entirely different place, surrounded by a thick growth of ancient trees, on the verge of a tiny village that bustled with frantic people.  No one seemed to notice their strange arrival.

 

“Hmph.  Gwaren.  Magic.  Damned useful stuff, but it always makes me twitchy,” Loghain said, with a swipe at his beaky nose with the back of one hand.

 

“There.  My side of the bargain is fulfilled.  I’ll be leaving now,” the witch said, and made to step into the woods.

 

“Hold on a minute,” Loghain said.  “I have one question for you, one I’ve been sitting on a long time now.  You told Maric I’d betray him.  How did I _ever_ betray him?”

 

“Well, there was that time you slept with his woman, right under his very nose,” she said, with a bit of a laugh in her voice.

 

Loghain shifted on his feet, his face undergoing a series of uncomfortable expression changes in a matter of seconds.  “She wasn’t _his_ woman.  They were betrothed, but he didn’t _own_ her.  He didn’t even _want_ her.  He was fucking an elven spy not ten steps away from her and _she_ came to _me_.  I don’t see that as a betrayal.  _He’s_ the one who tore _her_ heart out of her chest.  I only made her go back to him because I knew she had to be queen.”

 

“You’re right.”

 

“Then why do you say I betrayed him?  Moreover, you said that I would do it more than once.”

 

“My dear boy, I was looking at Maric when I spoke those words, but I was speaking them… to _you.”_

 

He jerked his head back.  “What?  You mean… Maric never betrayed me.”

 

“Oh ho ho.  You were his friend, true, but you were also his favorite tool.  He _used_ you, my boy, and never felt terribly badly about it, either.  You’re not stupid.  You know this.”

 

“Maric needed my aid.  _Ferelden_ needed my aid.”

 

“That’s what he told you.  But he had a bevy of assassins and spies and people of all stripes to do his dirty work for him.  He didn’t need to dirty _your_ hands all the time.  He knew you were fragile.  He didn’t care.”

 

“Who are you calling fragile?” Loghain said, adopting a belligerent stance.

 

“And how often do you cry yourself to sleep at night, picturing the faces of strangers you’ve murdered in the name of the King?  In the name of Duty?” the witch said, narrowed eyes and laughing lips.  “How often do you huddle at the bottom of the wardrobe just to sit there and shake, picturing the blood on your hands, knowing that so many of your ‘duties’ were no more than ploys for your king to grow his power and influence and not for the sake of your nation at all?”

 

“Maric’s power and influence _was_ for the sake of Ferelden,” Loghain near-shouted.

 

The witch was silent for a moment, then said, “You go on telling yourself that.  Perhaps one of these days you’ll come to believe it.  You may not believe _my_ words, but I am rather proud of you, my boy.  Thus far, you have done well to keep your rage from consuming you.  That little wife of yours helped you more than I might have expected she would.  My advice?  Find yourself another woman.  You don’t do as well on your own.  And now, I take my leave.”  And, with that, she walked into the depths of the forest and swiftly disappeared from view.

 

Everyone in the small group exchanged uncertain glances with each other, except for Loghain, who remained in his belligerent stance in the middle of them all, staring into the forest in the direction the witch had gone.  “Er, I suppose we should head into the village?” Bethany ventured.  “It looks pretty wild there, but hopefully we can catch a ship.  Get resupplied, at least, if there are no more boats leaving the harbor today.”

 

“I didn’t think Gwaren was so big,” Carver said.  “Looks like there’s more people than houses.”

 

Loghain shook himself out of his annoyance and looked toward the village again.  “There are.  Refugees, fleeing the darkspawn, I expect, like us.  Looks like they’re making a grand old mess of themselves, too.  Probably trying to get shipboard and leave, but Gwaren harbor isn’t that big for all we export from this place.  Ships don’t make port here that often.  Most of our product goes overland.”

 

“What are we going to do, then?” Leandra asked.  “We have to get to the Free Marches.”

 

“Are you really so set on leaving?  I heard you say you have family there, but Ferelden is your home, isn’t she?” Loghain said.

 

“She’s _our_ home,” Felicity said, “but _mother_ is a native Kirkwaller.”

 

“But you and your sister are apostates.  Surely you don’t think it’s safe to put yourself forward in the City of Untoward Templars?”

 

“Well, no, but we don’t have anything else.”

 

“I have plenty.  I can help you set yourselves up again just fine.  Come with me to Denerim.  I have to arrange a face-to-face meeting with this other me.”

 

“I don’t know that I trust _him_ any further than that witch,” Carver said.  “What if we go with him and he’s the _fake?”_

 

“What if we _don’t_ go with him and he’s the real thing?” Aveline said.  “If the false Teyrn Loghain has Maric’s Shield at his back, ousting him will be difficult.  His Lordship will need all the help he can get.”

 

“Especially if my daughter somehow can’t tell the difference between us,” Loghain said.  “Does this man really look so much like me?”

 

“Down to a tee, Ser,” Aveline said.  “I don’t know where they found someone so much like you.  I would have said you were unique in all Thedas.”

 

“And he… did not call the flanking charge?”

 

Aveline shook her head sadly.  “The King… most of the rest of the army…  They all died.  It was a massacre, Ser.  That you live is a miracle.”

 

“I don’t know why the darkspawn didn’t kill me while I was lying there bound in my smallclothes, sleeping,” Loghain said, running a hand through his scruffy hair in dismay.  “Maybe they thought I was already dead.  Lucky me, I guess.  So Cailan is… damn it.  Damn it all.  And half the bloody army gone in a blow.  All those men and women gone too soon, in a battle that was useless from the beginning but should never have ended that way.  Damn it to the Void.  And what’s left of my army under the command of some clever fake who’s now no doubt after my daughter, along with every noble in the nation.  I’ve got to get back to Denerim.  As quickly as possible.”

 

“You have my sword, Ser,” Aveline said.

 

“Thank you, Lieutenant.”

 

The Hawke sisters looked at their brother, who crossed his arms belligerently over his chest and set his face in a scowl.  “I don’t trust this.  Even if he is the real Loghain, just who is it we’re going after?  What kind of mess would we be getting involved in?  I don’t fancy getting killed.”

 

“Some soldier you are,” Aveline said.  “This is your _General.”_

 

“For all I know, my _General_ left me on the field to die,” Carver groused.

 

“Leave the boy alone, Lieutenant,” Loghain said, when it seemed as though Aveline was ready to take arms against the young man.  “Tearing into him is a job for his mother and sisters and it looks as though his sisters are about to.”

 

_“Carver,”_ Felicity said, setting her shoulders very straight.  “You.  _Didn’t_ want to leave Lothering.  _You’re_ the reason we almost didn’t make it out in time.  Now what, you’re so anxious to get away you’d spurn an offer from the Teyrn of Gwaren that would allow us to stay in our homeland?  Where we can be _safe_ from the templars?”

 

“I don’t see where we’re safe.  He’s just pitting us against a different enemy, one we’re not sure of.  _And_ we’re not sure that he’s the Teyrn of Gwaren!  The guy on the flank at the Battle of Ostagar looked just the same.  King Cailan couldn’t tell the difference, apparently.”  Carver turned his attention to Loghain.  “You said you woke up naked in the camp at Ostagar and have been running hell bent for leather ever since.  You’re dressed now, though.  Where’d you get the clothes, eh?”

 

“Honnleath,” Loghain said evenly.  “The darkspawn hadn’t hit it yet when I reached it.  The villagers were pretty upset by the sight of a naked man bursting out of the woods, but they gave me some castoffs to wear, which was nice of them.  Couldn’t wait around for food or water or even to make sure they got out of there, but I warned them of the horde, so hopefully they took heed and got the blazes elsewhere.”

 

“So you just ran naked through the Korcari Wilds in a random direction and happened to find yourself in Honnleath?”

 

“No, I ran for Honnleath.  I know my way through the Wilds.”

 

“No man knows his way through the Wilds.”

 

“Little boys who piss their pants at old legends don’t know the Wilds, but I _do_ know them.  I’ve been through them many times since the day the witch saved Maric and I long ago.”

 

“Why didn’t you come straight to Lothering?” Bethany asked.  “That’s where the army went.”

 

“That’s also the direction the horde went.  I figured I couldn’t fight my way through that many darkspawn alone.  I circled around that direction in the hope of gaining the Imperial Highway and easy trekking, but those hopes were dashed.  Don’t know how I happened upon you lot when I did.  I was just about ready to give up on the idea of making it back by then.”

 

Bethany looked at her twin brother imploringly.  “Come on, Carver.  We have to do this.  For Ferelden’s sake.”

 

“Hmph.  Do what you’re going to do, then.  Since when has my voice ever borne any weight in this family?” he said, scowling.

 

Felicity looked at Leandra.  “Well, what do you think, Mother?”

 

Leandra shrugged.  “I think it will be dangerous, but… it probably is an offer too good to refuse.  Oh, but do be careful, my darlings, please.”

 

“All right.  We’ll stop here long enough to get resupplied, but we need to get a move on quickly.  It’s a long, dangerous ride to Denerim, but quicker than taking a boat, if we could even get one,” Loghain said.  “You can all ride horses, can’t you?”

 

“I’ve never been on a horse before,” Bethany said.

 

“I haven’t, either, but I’m sure I can manage,” Felicity said.

 

“Good girl.  It’s not that hard, and I’ve got good horses in my stables here at the Keep.  If you’re unsure about it, dear, you can ride double with me.  You can’t ride very fast through the Passage anyway.”

 

“What’s so dangerous about this forest, anyway?” Felicity asked.  “The witch said even the darkspawn wouldn’t want to pass through it.”

 

“Oh, the usual things.  Thick growth, wild animals, Dalish elves,” Loghain said with a careless shrug.  “It’s not so bad if you keep your head.  The locals here have a healthy respect for it.  They would: most of them make their living off of it one way or another.  They say the forest watches, and remembers, and holds a grudge.  A lot of men from Gwaren have gone into the Brecilian to work over the years and just… never come back.”

 

“Are the Dalish really dangerous?” Bethany asked.  “That witch expects us to walk right up to some of them.”

 

“They can be, if you’re not careful.  They’re not particularly trusting of humankind.  But that’s why they stick to the wild spaces: so they don’t encounter us.  They’re generally not looking for fights.  Some of the clans that pass through these woods stop and send some of their hunters into the village to trade every now and then, but that’s pretty rare.  Gwaren gets along with them about as well as it may be _possible_ to get along with them in this day and age,” Loghain said, as he picked up and snapped a twig in his hands.

 

“The Brecilian Forest is your land, isn’t it?” Carver asked.  “You let wild elves just wander through?”

 

“What am I going to do about it?  Most of the time I don’t even know they’re there.  And why should I care?  It’s not like I have any use for the land myself.  If they want to live there, they’re welcome to it.  I’d like to _give_ it to them, provided Gwaren could still harvest what little she needs from it, but I don’t think that would go over well at the Landsmeet.  They already call me the Elf-Lover, not that I give a damn what they think.  Giving over a large portion of my private lands to the Dalish would probably see me out on my ass.”

 

“It probably would, but _I_ like the idea,” Felicity said.

 

“Can we quit all this discussion now and go get something done?  We’ve been standing here for what feels like hours.  In a moment a sylvan will come out of the forest and snatch us up,” Loghain said.

 

“What’s a sylvan?” Bethany asked.

 

“Never mind, just… follow me.”  Loghain led the way into the crowded village, where a man in fine clothes and a handful of local militia were trying to quell the morass at the small harbor.  Locals appeared to be fighting with ragged refugees over what few boats were docked.  The few militia clearly had their hands full.  Loghain muscled his way to the fore and shouted for order.  Everyone stopped fighting at once and stared.

 

“Oh, Your Grace, am I glad to see you.  But I thought -- the news was you were in Denerim,” the fine-dressed man said.

 

“The news is wrong, Cort,” Loghain said.  “What’s going on, here?”

 

“There’s only one ship left leaving port, and not enough room for all the refugees that want to leave Ferelden.  A riot broke out between the refugees and the locals when the refugees began trying to steal the locals’ fishing boats.”

 

_“Riot,”_ one of the locals, a large man Loghain knew well as a local timberjack, said with a sneer..  “More like a stampede.  “We’re just tryin’ to help the militia boys quell the animals.”

 

“They’re just afraid for their lives,” Bethany said.

 

“One thing to know about a Gwarener is that they bear little love for those from ‘Away,’” Loghain said.  “That said, they’ll take good care of anyone, no matter who they are, unless they’re Orlesian I suppose.”  He raised his voice.  “Good people, there is no need for this.  The darkspawn will not brave what scarce paths lie to Gwaren as you did.  Stay here, you will be safe.  Provisions will be brought to you from the Keep and the locals will help you -- not always gracefully, perhaps, but willingly enough.”

 

The refugees seemed unwillingly to relax, shared looks among themselves and then looked to the locals, who backed off a few steps.  “How do you know the darkspawn won’t come here?” someone said.

 

“Because Ferelden will deal with them, just as soon as I deal with whomever it is who’s stolen my army,” Loghain said.

 

Some head scratching and general confusion, but the crowd slowly began to disperse.  Loghain turned around.  “All right, let’s head to the Keep.  We need supplies and horses: we’ve got to get out of here and on to Denerim as swiftly as possible, for Anora’s sake.  I won’t leave her in danger a moment longer than necessary.”


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke gets to know Loghain a bit, but is he the Teyrn, or the impostor as her brother suspects?

Three placid mares and three quiet geldings munched grass a short distance away.  All around the small clearing, ancient trees clustered closely.  “Maker, this forest is creepy,” Carver complained for the umpteenth time as they set camp the second night of their travel.  “Sometimes I swear I see the trees moving out of the corner of my eye.”

 

“Trees do move, Carver,” Felicity said.  “Branches sway.”

 

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.  Besides, who has felt so much as a breath of air since we entered this ghastly woods?”

 

“I’ve seen… something moving, too,” Bethany said.  “And I know it’s not my imagination.  It looks like trees, but I don’t know what it really could be.”

 

“Sylvans,” Loghain said.  “Spirits aren’t too picky about what they possess when they come through the Veil, and the Veil is very thin here.  They were trees once, but I don’t know if they qualify any longer.  Don’t get too near ‘em and they’ll typically leave you alone.  Typically.”

 

“Oh.  Wonderful.  Demon trees,” Carver said.

 

“Well, they haven’t attacked us,” Felicity said cheerfully.  “Not yet, at least.”

 

“Nothing has, which is odd,” Loghain said, a scowl on his face.  “And no crickets chirping, no birds singing, nothing.  I haven’t wanted so say anything, but something’s bad wrong here.”

 

“Oh.  I thought maybe the forest was just… like that,” Aveline said.

 

“Not typically.”

 

“What could make it like this?  Large, dangerous creatures?” Felicity asked.

 

“Maybe.  Not likely, though.  Not for two straight days’ travel.  There are supposed to be wyverns in this forest -- hence my heraldry -- but I’ve never seen one.  Don’t know if they’d keep it so quiet for such a long distance or not, unless maybe one was stalking us.  That’s possible, I suppose.  Seems more likely, this being the Brecilian and all, that what we’re dealing with is angry or agitated spirits of some sort.”

 

“Really?” Felicity said, lip curled in distaste.

 

“Well, I’m no expert, but that kind of thing is pretty commonplace in the Brecilian, so I would say it likely.  You’re a mage: can’t you tell if the spirits are in turmoil?”

 

“I think you have to live in the Circle for that kind of training,” Felicity said.  “Father taught me a lot, but he died.”

 

“Ah.  Pity.”

 

“Sorry.”

 

“What are you apologizing for?  It’s your father that died.  He was a mage, too, then?”

 

“Escaped from the Circle in Kirkwall, but a native Fereldan,” Felicity said uncomfortably.  “I suppose you don’t like apostates much.  You said magic makes you… ‘twitchy.’”

 

“Magic is scary stuff, and highly dangerous,” Loghain said, with a shrug.  “So is lyrium, and aquae lucidus, myself in the wrong mood, and rabid kittens in large numbers.  Mages are people, and people should be free.”  Loghain threw another log on the campfire.  “Besides, every noble in Ferelden employs a small army of apostates.  I’ve gotten fairly used to mages over the years, if not to magic itself.”

 

“So you _don’t_ have a small army of apostates?” Carver said accusingly.

 

“I like to fight my battles up front, whenever possible,” Loghain said.  “Not that I wouldn’t hire apostates if some came my direction, but I never went out looking for them.  You know it occurs to me that I don’t know your names?  Typical of me, you’ll come to find out.  Names aren’t something I worry about most of the time.”

 

“You knew _my_ name,” Aveline said.

 

 _“You_ were one of my officers,” Loghain said.  “And you kind of stand out.”

 

“I was in _Cailan’s_ direct service.”

 

“All of Ferelden’s soldiers are my soldiers.  Were.  Bloody flames.”

 

“Well, this is my mother, Leandra, my brother Carver, and my sister Bethany,” Felicity explained.  “My name is Felicity, but most everyone just calls me Hawke.  That’s our family name.”

 

“Nice to finally ‘meet’ you,” Loghain said.

 

“And what was _your_ name before King Maric gave you one?” Carver asked.

 

“Carver!” Felicity said.

 

Loghain sighed and shook his head.  “The story that the name ‘Mac Tir’ was bestowed upon me after the Battle of River Dane was propagated by the nobility, who didn’t like the idea that some no-account peasant had done something more noteworthy than they had, and had an older name than they did.  Mac Tir is Alamarri for ‘Son of the Land;’ my family has been native to this nation for what my father said was thousands of years before it was united under one king.  Don’t know how it could be ‘thousands,’ since I’d have thought that would put us back in elven rule, but whatever.”

 

“So you’ve always been a Mac Tir,” Bethany said.

 

 _“Always._ Why would Maric give a man an Alamarri name, anyway?  Have you met anyone else in this nation that has one anymore?”

 

“Not knowingly,” Felicity said slowly.

 

“Exactly.  The days of the Alamarri are long past.  No one knows anything about them any longer, save for a few Chantry scholars.  Fereldans may still bear their blood, but the names are lost.  The Tevinters made sure of that, and the Orlesians finished off what they started.”

 

“How did you get off scot free, then?” Carver said.

 

“Don’t know.  Suppose someone had to.  And I would guess we bled plenty for the privilege.  Know I did.  My mother and father died for it.”

 

“Died to save a name?  That’s bloody brilliant,” Carver said.  Felicity kicked at him.

 

“Died to save our freedom.  _Your_ freedom, my boy, in case you’ve forgotten.  With two apostate sisters, it’s likely you have, but just imagine how much harder it would be for you if Orlais was still the ruling power.”

 

“None of us have forgotten what you and all the great men and women of the Rebellion did for us, Your Grace,” Leandra said, with her head lowered.

 

“None of that ‘Your Grace’ or ‘My Lord’ business, all right?  I’m just Loghain.”

 

“Oh, you’re Ferelden’s greatest hero, Ser… I don’t think I could ever call you by name,” Leandra said.

 

“Some great hero,” Carver said.  “You heard what the witch said, Mother.  He didn’t deny it.  He shakes and cries in the closet.  What kind of hero does that?”

 

“Carver, shut your mouth!” Bethany demanded.

 

“It’s all right.  He’s right, of course.  Of course, when little soldier boy has seen half the terrible things I’ve seen, we’ll see if he doesn’t feel a little bit of the trouble I feel every now and then himself.  You’ve got quite the chip on your shoulder, boy.  You remind me of someone I once knew, long, long ago.”

 

“Oh yeah?  Who’s that?” Carver said.

 

“Myself.  My anger came from wanting my family back.  Yours, if I’m not mistaken, seems to come from wanting your family gone.  You shouldn’t take them for granted, boy.  They can always be taken away.”

 

“I don’t want my family gone,” Carver said, hunching up defensively.

 

“Just your older sister, then?  Don’t know what it’s like to have siblings, myself.  Only child, me.  Would’ve liked to have a sister, but I suppose they have their pros and cons,” Loghain said, staring steadily at Carver with those cold, pale eyes boring holes straight into him.

 

Carver looked away and dug at the fire with a stick.  “What’s to eat around this place?  I’m starving,” he said.

 

Felicity dug in their packs for food and passed around the uncooked sausages and poured a tin of beans into a pot.  While that was cooking, Loghain nodded his head to the last family member waiting none too patiently for his share.

 

“You left out an introduction, Lady Hawke.  What’s this fine fellow’s name?” he said of the silver-grey mabari sitting by Felicity’s side with begging eyes fixated on her sausages.  Brought into the conversation now, he broke off his begging and stood to cross the fire to where Loghain sat, stumpy tail wagging so hard his whole back end shook, panting and slobbering, and Loghain fended off his show of affection with no apparent ill-humor.

 

“Spirit, calm down,” Felicity warned.  “That’s our family mabari, Spirit.  He’s a good boy, but a little overly excitable sometimes.”

 

“So I see.  He’s imprinted to you?”

 

“Well… yes, technically.  He’s the whole family’s dog, though.”

 

“I had a mabari myself when I was a boy.  Still miss that dog.  You’re a fortunate woman, Hawke.”

 

She hung her head.  “Most people don’t like it when they find out an apostate has a mabari,” she said.

 

“Most people go very far out of their way to be offended,” Loghain said, giving the dog a final pat before hustling him back to his master.  “I like to think I’m thicker-skinned about most things.”

 

“My brother has been rather offensive.  I apologize on his behalf,” Felicity said.

 

“My dear, if I were offended, I would be angry.  If I were angry, your brother would be dead.  Your brother is not dead, therefore I am not angry.  Hence, I am not offended.  Stupid words and base insults don’t upset me easily.  Your brother should be grateful for that.  I already gave him my warning.  He’s hopefully smart enough to heed it.”

 

“I would… really _not_ like you to attack my brother, Ser,” Hawke said carefully.

 

“And I would really like to remain on amicable terms with you and your family myself, so let’s hope that happens, eh?  Don’t worry, I haven’t killed any Ferelden nobility since the Rebellion, and they say stupid, offensive things to me all the time.  It would take a lot to really get my goat.  Just thought it was worth warning him.  There’s all flavors of ‘nobility,’ and _most_ are not so forgiving of insulting words.”

 

“Like we run with nobility,” Carver said, snorting.

 

“Well, you’re running with me,” Loghain said.  “Granted, I’m only noble by say-so, but I run in some exalted circles.  They _think_ they’re exalted, anyway.”

 

“So, what, then?  Are you going to invite us along to dinner with Teyrn Cousland?” Carver said.

 

“Teyrn Cousland, and his whole castle, were massacred by Arl Rendon Howe shortly before Ostagar, which I found out thanks to the one surviving daughter, who became a Grey Warden and presumably died at the battle,” Loghain said.  “Likely this was part of the same plot that I almost fell to, and I _will_ have justice.  Cousland was one of the few nobles who was somewhat worth a damn.”

 

Silence reigned until the meager supper was over and they sat staring into the fire.  Finally, Bethany gathered the courage to speak.

 

“Teyrn Loghain -- forgive me, but, I must say… you are younger than I expected you’d be,” she said.

 

“How old did you think I was?” he asked, with a thin smile that did not make it to those cold grey-blue eyes.

 

“Well, I don’t know, really, it’s just… the Rebellion seems so long ago now, and you were General even then.”

 

He laughed, a sound almost as unpleasantly sour as the Witch of the Wilds’ laughter.  “My dear, Maric made me General of the Rebellion for two reasons: Reason number one, he had a strange notion that I could do anything, and he would not be disabused of it no matter how many times I proved him wrong.  Reason number two, and this was the big one, all his advisors and his Generals and almost the entire Rebel army were wiped out at the Battle of West Hill.  He really had little choice.  I was a boy, barely any older than you or your sister, certainly not old enough or experienced enough to lead an army, but… you do what you have to do.”

 

“It’s amazing how some people have things just dropped in their laps, isn’t it?” Carver said.  “Important friends.  Ranks.  Teyrnirs.”

 

Felicity half-stood up.  “Carver, knock it off or so help me -- ”

 

“It’s all right,” Loghain said.  “Envious, boy?  I suppose most would be.  I’ll tell you this, though.  All I wanted out of the war was a quiet place to raise a family.  What I got was a tremendous, never-ending ass ache.  Want some power and status for yourself?  Go for it.  But be sure that’s what you want, boy.  Responsibilities come along with it.  Are you the type who can hold men’s lives in your hands without a care in your head?  Maybe you are.  But that’s the type of man we tried ousting during the Rebellion, and I wouldn’t like to see that type of man back in power here.”

 

“I thought you said all nobility were like that,” Carver said.

 

“I don’t have to like the nobility to know their purpose,” Loghain said.  _“Someone_ has to make the hard decisions.  I’d rather it be men who know the price those decisions cost.  Most of the older Ferelden nobility do.  I worry more about their children.  Spoiled shits, most of them.”  He made a noise of disgust low in his throat.  “Instead of teaching them of the way the real world works, Mummy and Daddy have kept them safe and hidden from everything _they_ were forced to witness.  They take them to balls in Montsimmard and Val Royeaux, just as though thirty years ago these same bastards weren’t squeezing the very life out of them, and they pretend to have a good time while their children soak in the sight of the silks and solid gold masks and Anderfels ham that tastes of despair and think ‘This is real living!  I want _this!’_ Why, even _Cailan_ was --” but he stopped short with a click of teeth and stuffed a piece of jerky in his mouth as though to ensure his own silence.

 

“Not always so thick-skinned, I see,” Felicity said cautiously.

 

“Some things make me angry pretty easily,” Loghain said, with a dark expression on his narrow face.  “Nothing I can do about the way other people want to raise their children, though.  Just… scares me.  I see the next generation of Arls and Banns growing up to be not much different to the Orlesian bastards we bled to get rid of.  A lot of good men and women died so that they could live the high life.  Hope Anora turned out better than that.  Suppose I’m too close to her to tell.  She wasn’t born a High-Brow Lady, but she grew up that way, mostly.  Though they still call her _Peasant.”_

 

Bethany gave a gasp of shock.  “That’s right.  Your daughter is Queen.  I mean, she _is,_ isn’t she?  _Completely,_ now that Cailan is…”

 

“She has Crown Matrimonial,” Loghain said, sighing.  “That means she is, in fact, Queen.  Doesn’t mean there aren’t plenty who won’t contest it.  Lots of nobles never liked the match, even though Maric insisted upon it.  Another reason she’s in danger right now.  If they can’t oust her with a Landsmeet someone might well try some other method.”

 

“Can’t her guards protect her?” Carver asked.

 

“They’re a good lot, but _I’m_ in charge of Royal Security, and right now, they think someone _else_ is me.”  He stood and stretched.  “You know what?  You people talk too much.  Go to bed.  We need to be off early in the morning.  The sooner we make Denerim, the sooner your mother can have some true rest, eh?”

 

“You don’t give us orders,” Carver said, but Felicity kicked him again.

 

“Take a look at Mother and tell me she doesn’t need a good night’s sleep in a real bed somewhere?” she hissed through her teeth.  Grumbling, Carver made ready for bed.  Soon everyone was tucked into the bedrolls they’d taken from the Keep at Gwaren.

 

“Good night, my darlings,” Leandra said, in a weary voice.  “Denerim tomorrow, right?  An end to all this wandering.”

 

“Good night, Mother,” Bethany said.

 

Several hours later Felicity gave up trying and carefully extricated herself from the covers and went to stand watch at the back of the camp, where she was only moderately surprised to find Loghain also on guard.

 

“Can’t sleep?” he asked as she approached.

 

“I think my bedroll was laid out on a pile of stones,” she said.

 

“Yeah, you’ve got to watch for that,” he said.  “I take it you’re not really used to sleeping rough.”

 

“I spent most of my life in Lothering.  We were ‘on the run,’ but not really.  There were a lot of templars there, for such a small town, but father knew how to stay out of sight and as long as we kept quiet the people of the village didn’t seem to care about our presence much.  We were… _villagers,_ basically, just hiding our special talents.  Bethany even used to attend Chantry.”

 

“That surprises me.  I’d always heard templars have ways of telling someone is a mage, just by looking at them.”

 

“Well, it never worked on Bethany.  At least, none of the Lothering templars could tell.  Maybe they were the ‘B’ squad templars, shipped out to tiny villages because they didn’t do well on their templar tests, but that Ser Bryant, who was in charge, always scared me.  Decent sort, really, but… well, he seemed awfully competent, if you get what I mean.  Competence in templars isn’t something apostates particularly like seeing.”

 

“No, I suppose not.  Well, maybe this ‘Ser Bryant’ was decent enough to look the other way.”

 

“Huh.  Well, maybe he was.”

 

“So, people really just call you Hawke, eh?  That’s a stalwart name for such a pretty young lady.  But then, I suppose ‘Felicity’ is something of a mouthful.  Comes out like a sneeze if you’re not careful.”

 

She giggled.  “Yes, it can.  Well, I was always sort of a tom-boy when I was a girl, and Felicity never really fit me.  People just started calling me Hawke and it stuck.”

 

He nodded and stared at the fire.

 

“You don’t really like to talk much, do you?” she asked.

 

“I really thought I’ve been quite chatty, these past couple of days,” he said.  “Fear, I guess.”

 

“You’re afraid?”

 

“Terrified.  I’ve only been taken by surprise three times before in my life.  The first time I lost my mother.  The second time I lost my father.  The third time I almost lost the rebellion.  This time I’ve already lost Cailan and half the nation’s standing army.  What else will I lose before it’s over?”

 

“Worried about Ferelden, or your daughter?”

 

“Both, but mostly my girls right now.”

 

“Girls?  I thought you only had Anora.”

 

“Anora’s my only child, but I have another daughter.  Cauthrien.  No blood of mine, just a waif I found sheaving wheat one hot day in the bannorn when I was making a tax run from the Gwaren office to the palace.  Covered in bruises, the reaper she held weighed more than she did.  But she let out a yell that would curl your hair and came running across that field to protect me when bandits set upon me around a bend in the road.  Saved my life, she did.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Well, she provided the distraction I needed to kill the bandits on my own.  Would’ve been harder for me if she hadn’t been there.  She only had a drunken father for family.  I took her in, gave her a home and a purpose.  She became rather too devoted to me.  If she believes the imposter is me, she’ll follow him pretty much to the Void and back, no matter what he commands.  If somehow she doesn’t believe, she’ll fight him.  If he really is like me, he’ll kill her.  Honestly, I’m less worried about Anora than Cauthrien at this point.  Anora is… tougher.  More her own woman.  Not that Cauthrien isn’t tough, mind, she’s just got this one weak spot.”

 

“If she follows, she should be safe enough.  Anora sounds like she’s in more danger, if she’s more likely to disobey.”

 

“Maybe so, but if she falls, she’ll go down standing up.  Cauthrien will follow him blindly through terrible things if he orders them before she finally wakes up, I fear.  She might never.  I don’t want that.  I don’t want either of my girls to… do the things I’ve had to do.”

 

“Why did _you_ have to do them?  Blind devotion to Maric?” Felicity asked.

 

“A nation needs people who are willing to do very dirty things, particularly after a war like we had.  Maric had to keep his hands clean, keep his image as ‘Maric the Savior.’  He needed me.  But I don’t need Cauthrien to follow in my footsteps.  _I_ really had no choice.  There was no one else at the time.”

 

“A difficult position to be in.”

 

“You don’t have to tell _me_ that.  You know, you really should try and get some sleep.”

 

“I can’t.  Ever since you pointed out how strange it is for the forest to be so quiet, I’m thoroughly creeped out.”

 

“Oh.  Sorry ‘bout that.”

 

“You think something will happen?”

 

“Hasn’t yet.  I’m keeping an eye out.  Restless spirits are fairly common here, they aren’t always hostile.”

 

“Usually, though?”

 

“Not always.  Not unless provoked.”

 

“Well, let’s… try not to provoke anything, then.”

 

“That’s generally a good idea under any circumstances.”

 

Hawke hesitated.  “My brother seems to be deliberately trying to provoke you.  He’s always been a little surly, but I’ve never seen him so outwardly hostile.  I’m sorry.  I don’t understand what’s gotten into him.”

 

“I do.  At least I think I do.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“He thinks you’ve sold yourselves into my service.  That’s not what’s going on here.  I welcome your aid, surely, but I don’t require it.  I would help your family even if you _don’t_ help me in return.”

 

“Well, of _course_ we’re going to help you,” Hawke said.  “For Carver, it shouldn’t even be up for debate.  He’s a soldier.  He _is_ in your service.”

 

“Being a private soldier in the Fereldan army and being a Lord’s private bodyguard are two different types of service, aren’t they?” Loghain said.  “I’m not even certain your brother considers himself a _soldier_ any longer.  Go and get some sleep now.  Stones can be swept away.”


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The impostor is revealed and battle is engaged, but just who wins the duel?

The nobles who gathered in the Landsmeet chamber were accustomed to seeing the great doors flying open and rebounding with a crash from the walls as Loghain Mac Tir strode through, so at first no one took the matter with great seriousness.  Not until everyone realized, more or less simultaneously, that Loghain Mac Tir was already _in_ the room, had in fact _called_ this Landsmeet, and the rough-clad person stalking angrily and with great purpose into the chamber looked _exactly_ like him.  This strange imitation point a great finger at his silverite-clad double.

 

“I demand that man’s immediate arrest and execution!” he shouted in the same powerful voice that had made so many men tremble in fear.  “He is an imposter and a traitor to the Crown!”

 

The shocked and silent nobility began to buzz in confusion, dismay, and not a little delight.  Here was a story for the ages!

 

“Silence!” more familiarly-clad Loghain shouted.  “This is a demon, sent by the Grey Wardens to kill me and take my place at Ostagar before the battle.  I thought I had finished it off, but apparently I was mistaken.  Guards, seize it at once!”

 

The guards moved forward, hesitantly, not sure who to listen to, not sure they wanted to tangle with a demon clever enough to wear another’s face or Loghain on either side, but a magical barrier rose up before them as the Hawke siblings and Aveline stepped cautiously into the room.

 

“You must listen!” Felicity said.  “This is the real Loghain!  That man, or whatever it is, left him on the field at Ostagar to die, just as he left our King!”

 

Anora stepped forward out of the shadows of the mezzanine to stand beside the armor-clad imposter.  She had a hand to her mouth and her clear blue eyes traveled swiftly from one figure of her father to another in dismay and doubt.  “I… cannot tell…” she said.

 

“You know me, Anora,” the armor-clad Loghain said.

 

“I thought I did, but I never thought you would leave Cailan on the field to die, either,” she said.

 

“I had to.  The Grey Wardens meant to kill us all,” he said.  “They had their clutches on Cailan already.  If I could’ve saved him, I would have.”

 

“Anora, look at me,” rough-clad Loghain said.  “If I had to, to protect the nation, to protect _you,_ I would leave my King to die, you know that.  But not without making a _damn good effort_ to save him first.”

 

She breathed a few deep breaths to steady herself, and then squared her shoulders.  “There may be a way to settle this easily.  Let me see your left hands, both of you.”

 

Both men readily held up their left hands.  Anora stripped the gauntlet off the hand next to her.  “You both wear a ring.  Let us see if they are the same.  Come up here, Ser, and we will compare,” she said, gesturing to the Loghain on the lower floor.  He climbed up the stairs to the mezzanine and held out his left hand.  The simple silver ring on his left index finger looked identical to the one on the other man’s hand, with seven rough diamonds set on the diagonal across the broad square face of them both.  “Take them off.  I want to see inside them,” Anora said.

 

Rough-clad Loghain took his off readily, with some difficulty, but the other showed some hesitation and suspicion.  When he finally took his off and showed her the inside, the inner face proved to be blank.  The inner face of rough-clad Loghain’s was inscribed with the word “DAD” in all capital letters.  The ring had been a gift from his daughter when she was still very young indeed.

 

“Arrest this man at once!” Anora said, pointing to the armor-clad imposter.  Guards moved to obey her command, but they didn’t get far.  With an inhuman snarl, armor-clad Loghain transformed.

 

“A demon!  I knew it!” Hawke shouted.  “Be careful, a demon that can take another’s face is a clever sonofabitch!”

 

The demon shrieked, and everyone in the chamber found themselves stunned senseless except for Loghain, who roared back a battle cry that knocked everyone, including the demon, on their asses.  Then he drew his sword -- still no more than the corrupted darkspawn blade -- and stabbed it hard into the demon’s chest, or what amounted to its chest.

 

But a demon does not die so easily, and this was a powerful demon.  It melted into the floor, leaving armor and the blade behind, and came popping up on the other side of the room, knocking a few hapless nobles back down just as they were climbing back to their feet.  “You should have died at Ostagar!  That was the plan!  The mages put you to sleep and I donned your face and no one was the wiser!  But you survived, and now I am no one!  Now you must _all_ die!”

 

“Tell me of this ‘plan,’” Loghain said, leaping from the mezzanine and menacing the creature from where he stood on the lower floor, blade back in his hand.  “Who made it and what was the point of it?”

 

“I am not yours to command!  I am Envy and I know your secret heart!”

 

“Hawke, information please: what am I dealing with?” Loghain asked.

 

Felicity shrugged.  “I don’t know.  I’ve never heard of an envy demon.  Probably a variant of desire.  Powerful, and most likely cunning, maybe prone to bribery, but you’ve got it cornered now, so I’d expect it to fight dirty.”

 

“My favorite way to fight,” Loghain said, and leapt to the upper mezzanine where the demon stood.  He gestured to the nobles still standing around in shock.  “Don’t just stand there, you useless gobs of fat, _defend yourselves!”_

 

“I’ll not fight a demon for you, Mac Tir!” someone shouted from the back.

 

“Will you die to one for me, then?  I’ll fight the damn demon, like I’ll fight every damn thing else for you blasted fops.  I’m just asking you to keep out of the way and use those fancy weapons on your backs if necessary,” Loghain shouted back.

 

The demon shrieked again, stunning everyone but Loghain once more.  “All right, you bastard.  No more talk.”

 

He charged, blade out, apparently heedless of the fact that he carried no shield to absorb the charge’s blow for him.  Nobles dashed out of his way as the demon dodged and he skidded to change direction on the slippery flooring stones.  He smashed his shoulder into a pillar before he could manage to harness his own momentum, but while it seemed to make the stone-built structure shake it didn’t seem to bother him at all, as he was off and running again on the instant.  This time the demon was less cagey, or perhaps too cagey, as it did not attempt to dodge until the last possible moment, and Loghain managed to inflict a deep wound.  But demons don’t require healing.  Wounds make it easier to inflict a fatal blow, but do not slow them down in any perceptible way.  The demon was still incredibly dangerous.  And it had far more tricks up its sleeve than dodging and shrieking.

 

It turned back into Loghain, right down to what he was wearing and the sword he was bearing, and attacked.  Now the onlookers couldn’t tell which of the fighters was which in the brawl, for the demon showed no sign of its wounds in this form.  This meant that as the two battled on the floor of the Landsmeet Chamber, circling, dodging, grappling, and shoving each other, the spectators quickly lost track of which was which.  Loghain, though a master of the martial arts, was not known to employ subtlety in his fighting style unless subtlety was called for, so the lack of anything resembling such in their fighting style was no great clue.  Now Loghain had no aid at all, for no one could help him, afraid they would choose the wrong side and aid the demon by mistake.  Both “men” took many grave wounds, and neither seemed particularly hindered by them.  Both of them showed red blood on their clothes.

 

Finally, one of the Loghains gained an advantage and took it, swung his blade and lopped the other’s head off.  The other Loghain dropped, and the triumphant Loghain assumed an aggressive stance over the fallen body in the middle of the ancient Landsmeet chamber and snarled, teeth flashing like fangs, pale grey-blue eyes seeming lit from within.  All with a clear view of the phenomenon would swear to it later.  Loghain snarling after a hard-fought victory was nothing new, but if it was the demon who fell, it did not change back in death.  Leaving the question quite open: who actually won the battle, Loghain or Envy?  And how would they find out for certain?

 

****

 

Loghain’s aggressive posturing ended and he staggered, weary and wounded, and Hawke ran up to support him.  “Here, Ser, let me help you.  Bethany, help me heal his wounds.”

 

“But who are you healing, Sister?” Carver asked from the sidelines.  “You don’t know that’s the Teyrn.  Could be the demon, for all you know.  That could be the Teyrn lying in two pieces on the ground there.”

 

“Nonsense, ser,” Anora said, breathing hard.  “My father would not lose a duel to a demon.”

 

“I say we cannot take chances,” Bann Esmerelle said.  “Even if he isn’t a demon, you saw what he did at the end of the battle.  That was inhuman.  He is at the very least demon- _touched_.  Kill him, before he endangers us all.”

 

“You’ve _always_ believed my father inhuman, Esmerelle, and you’ve always wanted him gone,” Anora shot back.

 

“I can settle this matter,” a new voice said.  A bald-headed man in Circle robes stepped forward and bowed to the room at large.  “Senior Enchanter Uldred of the Ferelden Circle of Magi.  Allow me to say that I am honored to have been allowed to attend this Landsmeet, even under these circumstances, and perhaps it was the Maker’s will that I do so, for I have the skills necessary to prove whether or not the creature before us is human or demon.”

 

He stepped forward, hands raised, and blue light flashed out from his fingers and palms.  It washed over Loghain, but nothing seemed to happen.  “It is safe,” Uldred said as he broke the spell.  “There are no demons in his blood.”

 

Anora put a hand to her chest and heaved a deep breath.  “Thank you, Senior Enchanter.  That is a great relief.”

 

The mage bowed to her, a simpering smile on his face.  “I live to serve, Your Majesty,” he said, and disappeared back into the shadows of the back of the room.

 

“That Senior Enchanter could have helped us heal the Teyrn,” Hawke said, as she continued to work the one simple healing spell she and her sister knew on Loghain’s wounds.

 

“Uldred is not a healer,” another voice from the back said.  “I will assist, if I may.”  A white-haired female mage in red robes stepped forward and raised her staff.  Her spell reached out and washed over Loghain, and his wounds knitted almost instantly.

 

“Whew, thank you,” Bethany said.  “You must be quite the healer.  That one spell did ten times what all our spells did altogether.”

 

 _“Circle training,_ my dear, will do that for you,” the mage said, giving the young woman a significant look, then faded into the background again.

 

“Don’t worry about it, Hawkelings, some birds just like to be caged,” Loghain said, patting both sisters on the shoulders as they gazed after the mage.  “Come on, help me back up to Anora, eh?  I may be ‘healed’ but I still feel pretty woozy.”

 

“Oh, sorry, of course.  Here, we’ve got you.”  Felicity and Bethany each got under one of his arms and supported him up the stairs to the mezzanine.  He didn’t lean into them much, for which they were grateful.  The weight he did put on them was more than enough for both of them.  Carver kept back and shot them a suspicious glare from over his crossed arms.

 

“Carver, what are you doing?” Felicity hissed as she left the Teyrn’s side and returned to her family.

 

“That demon said mages were _in_ on this plot,” Carver said.  “For all we know, that Uldred fellow was one of them.  That could _still_ be the demon in disguise.”

 

“I doubt Circle mages were in on any plot whatsoever,” Felicity said.  “They’re too supervised.”

 

“Smart people can get away with anything,” Carver said, “and that Uldred looked slick as shit.  Did you see the way he fawned on the Queen?”

 

“Everybody fawns on the Queen.  She’s the _Queen.”_

 

“Yeah, well, I’m not convinced that’s her father.”

 

“Oh you… shut up you.”

 

“Can we really take the chance he’s a demon?  Think about it!”

 

“Can we really just up and kill the _Teyrn of Gwaren?_ Think about it!”

 

Elves came in and carted the remains away and cleaned the floor, and the nobles gathered their courage to come back out onto it and voice their concerns again.  Bann Teagan stepped forward.

 

“Teyrn Loghain, I have something to ask.  Your ‘other self’ came back from the battlefield and immediately declared himself your daughter’s Regent.  Does that ruling stand?”

 

“Of course not.  Anora is perfectly capable of ruling without my help.  However, I assume I still stand in command of the nation’s armies.”  He looked to Anora for confirmation.  She nodded.  “You were all bitching, I suspect, because the other me called up your armies.  What _he_ might have wanted to do with them I shudder to consider, but _I_ need them to fight the darkspawn -- and whatever was behind this plot to kill me and however far it might have gone from there.  You’re going to provide them -- for your Queen and for your country.  What happened to Cailan and our forces was terrible and… and I am sorry that I failed them all.  But I _will not_ fail you in this.  I will roust the bastards that set this demon among us, and I _will_ see vengeance done, with my own two hands, preferably.  But at the same time, we must look to the safety of our people.  The darkspawn are spreading rapidly.  We need forces on the ground fast.”

 

“We need allies.  We need Wardens.  We must bring in the Wardens of Orlais.  King Cailan --” Bann Loren began.

 

 _“Never!”_ Loghain said, fist slamming down on the railing.  Specks of spit flew from his mouth and he looked ready to foam.  “Those bastards may be behind this whole thing!  That damn demon said something about the Wardens putting him up to this, and something like this would be right up the Empress’ dirty back alley.  Until we find out just who is against us, Ferelden stands alone, as always.  And you’d damn well better hope I don’t find out that any of _you_ were involved.”

 

After this top-voice tirade, eyes red and flashing, Loghain seemed to lose his vitality.  He sagged against the parapet and Anora moved to his side to support him.  “Father, you need rest.  You look like you came here straight from Ostagar.”

 

“I did,” he said.  “We stopped to rest, nights, though.  Don’t think we didn’t.”

 

 _“Father,”_ she said.

 

“What could I do?  You were in trouble.”

 

She sighed and shook her head.  “I’ll grant you that one.  Just go to the estate, please?  Get some rest, Father.  I’ll sort what needs to be sorted for now.  I’m sure your… I’m assuming houseguests?… haven’t had any more proper rest than you have.”

 

“All right, you’ve got a point there.  I’ll go.  But I’ll be back soon.  Got work to do.”

 

 _“Rest,_ Father.”

 

 _“All right,_ Daughter.”

 

Anora called a close to the Landsmeet, and Loghain turned and headed for the stairs.  “Father?”

 

He turned back.  “Yes?”

 

“Your… _predecessor_ … instituted a bounty against any Grey Wardens to survive Ostagar.  Since he actually had no authority to do so, this bounty is null and void.  What would _you_ like to do?”

 

He thought.  “Put the bounty in effect again, but set it so that they bring any Wardens they find in alive.  I want to talk to them.”

 

“Father?”

 

He sighed.  “Yes?”

 

“Are you going to talk to her?”

 

“To whom?”

 

“You know who I mean.  She needs to hear from you.  She needs to know it’s all right now.  This has been… hard on her.  When she finds out about all this… ”

 

“I’ll talk to her soon.”


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some heart-to-hearting, and a little nervousness.

She knew the back ways in to her father’s Denerim estate.  She knew how to enter unseen and unremarked.  Not entirely unseen, for there were always servants, always, but they’d long since come to understand Mac Tir ways and did not bother her so long as she did not bother them.  As she walked she took in her environs, so little changed from the time she called this place home.

 

The aqua-tint carpet runner, lined with gold embroidery, was the same the place had when they first moved in, when Anora was two years of age and her father first became Teyrn and inherited the estate along with the Gwaren Keep.  Father had never liked that carpet, but he’d never bothered to do anything about it, either.  The same tired, ancient tapestries on the walls, surviving because they were _not_ Orlesian in origin, despite having been left by the previous Gwaren administration, which was native Ferelden but definitely Orlesian sympathetic.  Father had gotten rid of any and all _Orlesian_ decoration first thing upon taking possession of both estates, the only change he’d bothered to make to either.

 

Anora stepped with light, sure tread through the familiar winding hallways to her father’s study, where she knew he would be ensconced with his maps and his papers.  She had made this trip so many times she could have walked it in the pitch darkness, blindfolded.  He was where she expected him to be, but not doing what she had expected him to be doing..  He was sleeping, facedown in the middle of one of his big maps of Ferelden spread out over his big mahogany desk, a single candle burning down untended nearby.

 

She didn’t want to wake him.  He got so little sleep, even under ordinary circumstances, which these certainly were not.  But he still had not done what he said he was going to do.  Perhaps she should come back later.

 

But she should remember never to underestimate how lightly her father slept, always ready for attack by assassins.  At the light tread of her feet upon the threshold of his study door, he woke immediately and turned, ready to defend himself, but relaxed when he saw it was only his daughter.  Anora, on the other hand, tensed up considerably, a hand to her mouth in horror, her dark blue eyes as wide as tea saucers.

 

“What’s the matter, dear?” he asked, concerned.  “You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”

 

She stood there for a long moment, silent, shocked at what she’d thought she’d seen.  Surely it was just a trick of the light, of the mind.  Too many nobles, squawking at her about what they’d imagined they’d seen after the battle.  Her father’s eyes were simply very pale, they caught whatever light there was in the room and reflected it back.  They _were not_ lit from within.

 

“Anora?  What’s wrong?” he said again.

 

“Oh.  Sorry, Father.  Nothing, just…”   She sighed.  “I must simply be tired myself.  I’m sorry I woke you.  I didn’t think you’d be asleep.”

 

“I didn’t think I’d be asleep, either.”

 

“You should go to bed, Father.”

 

“I’m fine.  I’ve got work to do.”

 

“You were facedown on your own arm, Father.”

 

“Just a little nap.”

 

“You need more than that.”

 

“Then why did you come in and wake me up?”

 

Anora paused and hushed herself before she could walk herself into what could only become a cyclical argument.  “Father, I didn’t mean to wake you up, but since you are, I _did_ come here to ask you something.”

 

He sighed and ran his hand through the back of his long mane of hair.  “You want to know why I haven’t spoken to her,” he said in a weary voice.

 

“Yes, Father.”

 

“I thought it would go over better in the morning.”

 

“And letting her stew all night, wondering what just happened?”

 

“I know.  I know.”

 

“Perhaps _you’d_ sleep easier, knowing you’d set her mind at ease?” Anora offered, hope in the set of her eyes and brows.

 

“Ahh… of course.  I know I must.  I shall.  Go on back to the palace, I’m off to speak with her right now,” he said, pushing himself up out of his chair with some evident hesitation.  “But what if she’s asleep herself?  It is rather late.”

 

“She won’t be asleep, she never is.  She’s just like you.  Go, Father.”

 

“All right.  I shall.”  He kissed her brow in passing as he walked out the door.  “I love you my dear.”

 

“I love you, too, Father,” Anora said, and tried not to remember that strange flash of blue light she saw from her father’s eyes when he first awoke.

 

****

 

There were soldiers playing Wicked Grace outside the barracks where the torches still burned, but inside all was still and dark and silent.  He walked through with no difficulty, encountering no hidden obstacle -- his night vision was and had always been excellent, utilizing whatever light was available.  It did not occur to him that there was, at this moment, no light available at all.

 

He found his way from the barracks to the Commander’s Quarters at the back, which despite Anora’s assertions was quite dark as well.  Still, she was not asleep but sitting up at her own desk, wide awake, apparently staring into the darkness.  Probably brooding.  Seemed to be a thing women sometimes did, even the best of them.  Not that he didn’t know a thing or two about brooding himself from time to time, but women seemed better at it, somehow, like introspection, anxious or otherwise, was an inborn talent.  He opened his mouth to call softly out to her, but she wasn’t there anymore.

 

Moving swiftly and silently in the darkness, she came up on his left and tried to take him by surprise but he saw and heard her coming and grabbed her and shoved her against the wall of her own quarters.  Outraged, she started to speak out, but he shushed her with, “Hush now, girl, it’s only me.”

 

“General?” she said.

 

“We’re both off duty now,” he said in return.

 

“General, I… I don’t know what’s going on,” she said, speaking much too quickly.  “They told me there was a demon in the Landsmeet chamber, wearing your face, and a fight, and… and…”

 

“And they don’t know who won the battle, right?” he said, releasing her.  “It’s true, girl.  The man who called for your retreat at Ostagar was a demon, something called an Envy demon.  I’m sorry.  I failed you.  I don’t know how it happened, but somehow I slipped up and let a bloody _demon_ take my place.”  He shook his shaggy head sadly.

 

“You’re… _not_ the demon?” she said.

 

He sighed, heaving his broad shoulders.  “I have no way to prove it, except the word of the mage who tested me and said I was clear of demons, and I don’t exactly trust mages any more than anyone else does.  I only have my own word to give you, and at this point I wouldn’t trust it _myself_ if I were in your shoes.”

 

Cauthrien stared hopefully at the man who had been more to her than her own father had ever been and wrung her hands together anxiously as she tried to fit the pieces of this wild story together in her mind.  Finally she gave in to what she needed in her heart and flung herself into his arms.

 

“Father,” she said, as tears streamed from her eyes.  “I’m so glad you made it back from that blasted hole alive.  I’m so glad you took _vengeance_ upon the demon for what it did to you.  To good King Cailan.  To all of us.  I’m so glad you’re here to protect us.

 

“I’ll always protect you, my girl,” he said, hugging her tightly as his eyes flashed brilliant blue light over her shoulder in the darkness of her pitch-black room.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New semi-original character introduction (lightly based on once-living person). Introduction of the Warden. Lyrics of "Please Stay" by Warren Zevon, no copyright infringement intended, character of minstrel "Zevon" mostly original and intended to honor, not besmirch.

He stood in the corner, grumbling, holding a glass of sherry that he wasn’t drinking.  He didn’t drink, not any longer.  He’d learned not to a long, long time ago, after he learned that he couldn’t control his drinking and how stupid he became after he surpassed his limit.  He didn’t like stupid.  Stupid people were, in a word, _stupid_.  Eloquent he would never be, but the word was succinct, functional, perfect.

 

Everyone around him was drinking, getting stupid.  _More_ stupid.  They were all Ferelden nobility, inbred for centuries, so they all started out stupid.  He didn’t know why he was here, except that Anora had insisted.  What a waste of time, and in a time of war, to attend a fucking _salon_.  But here he was anyway, at Anora’s behest, wasting his time, avoiding stupid people as best as he could, but doing what Anora wanted him to do there, which is being seen there, showing the nobles, in some way or another, that he was who he said he was, and that all was as normal.  Except that he was at a party, which he didn’t usually attend if he didn’t have to.

 

That prick, Vaughan Kendalls, oozed up to him, sloshing his wine and bubbling over with drunken sliminess and general bilious personality.  “You got my father killed, you asshole,” Kendalls said, slurring his speech considerably.

 

“I’m sorry your father died, Vaughan,” Loghain said, “but I don’t consider his death my own personal fault.”

 

Kendalls flailed his arms and sloshed more wine as he leaned in closer.  Loghain attempted to move away, but he was cornered.  “No, no, no.  I’m _thanking_ you.  I hate your peasant-born ass but you did me a good turn.  If that old bugger hadn’t died, I wouldn’t be Arl of Denerim.”

 

“And what an Arl you’ll be, you prick.  Excuse me,” Loghain said, and executed a particularly graceful maneuver to slip away from the drunken Arl.  He slipped his way as unnoticed as possible through the throngs of revelry towards the stage area where an elven minstrel was playing piano and singing.  There was an Antivan guitar leaning against the piano, suggesting he played that, too.  The stage created a corner out of the way of the other nobles.  Loghain parked himself there and watched the elf play.  The man really was quite talented, not that he had much of an ear for music ordinarily.

 

Soon he forgot the party, the drunken nobles, even the unwanted drink in his hand, which came dangerously close to spilling as his mind drifted down the lyrical path the elf was traveling.  It was a song he’d never heard before.  The lyrics were simple, it was a love ballad and the lines were… really quite _plain,_ but it was haunting.  Plain-spoken.  It didn’t need to be some long-drawn story that stretched out over ten minutes of endless rhyming.  It told its entire story in a few short lines and then repeated them for emphasis.

 

_“Please stay.  Please stay._

_Two words I thought I’d never learn to say._

_Don’t go away,_

_Please stay._

_“Don’t leave me here_

_When so many things so hard to see are clear._

_I need you near_

_To me._

_“Will you stay with me ‘til the end,_

_When there’s nothing left but you and me and the wind?_

_We’ll never know ‘til we try_

_To find the other side of goodbye._

_“Will you stay with me ‘til the end,_

_When there’s nothing left but you and me and the wind?_

_We’ll never know ‘til we try_

_To find the other side of goodbye._

_“Please stay.  Please stay._

_Two words I never thought I’d learn to say._

_Don’t go away._

_Please stay._

_Please stay.”_

“He’s not bad, isn’t he?  Even if he is a bit… _unusual_ for a minstrel.”

 

Loghain snapped out of his reverie to find Bann Teagan standing next to him.  It was his salon, on behalf of his brother the Arl of Redcliffe.  “What? Oh.  Yes, he’s… not bad.”

 

“He’s my brother’s minstrel.  Don’t know why he hired him, he never listens to him, just sends him out to these salons he never attends.”

 

“May I ask what the point of this party might be?  I really never heard,” Loghain asked, looking into the empty depths of his now-empty wine glass and knowing he’d spilled the contents on the expensive rose-patterned carpet.

 

“This is a salon dedicated to the memory of King Cailan,” Teagan said.

 

“Yes.  Everyone looks like they’re reminiscing about Cailan right now,” Loghain said, surveying the crowd and watching noblemen puking and noblewomen flashing their breasts and pussies.

 

Teagan shrugged as though to say, _“What can you do?”_ and moved off.  Loghain turned his attention back to the minstrel again   He paid more attention to the fellow himself, a scrawny little fellow like most elves, and blonde haired, with the bushiest, curliest long hairstyle Loghain had ever seen.  He wore a pair of dwarven spectacles perched on his nose -- expensive stuff, far out of reach of even “wealthy” elves -- so Arl Eamon probably paid for them himself.  He wore fine, hand-tailored clothing in noble style, which might well anger some of the nobles gathered here tonight if they looked at him closely enough to notice it, but he was virtually invisible to them and well-hidden behind his piano.  His clothes and slippers were black.

 

Perhaps the minstrel felt Loghain’s notoriously piercing gaze too strongly upon him, for he tugged uncomfortably at his collar between one song and the next and moved to change instruments to the Antivan guitar propped against the piano’s side.  He took the instrument to the back of the stage and leaned against the wall in the shadows as he tuned it up.  Then he began to play, still leaning with one foot up on the wall behind him.  Loghain had never heard Antivan guitar played before, although he’d heard of it, and had heard that minstrels who could play the instrument well were famous throughout Thedas.  It was a better sound than he expected it to be.

 

Teagan found an only moderately intoxicated, reasonably attractive young woman and migrated to a far corner of the room with her to chat her up.  The minstrel noticed that and looked around at his audience, who weren’t paying any attention to him whatsoever with the exception of Loghain.  He gave Loghain an assessing eye to eye look, then nodded as though in agreement with something unsaid.  He launched into a very different sort of song from any he’d played previously, a raucous, upbeat song with mildly raunchy lyrics about the singer’s “dirty life and times.”  Loghain connected with the song immediately.  He’d _lived_ those dirty life and times.

 

Near the end of the song, Teagan’s ears perked.  He turned away from his young prey and stalked toward the minstrel.  “Zevon, Eamon has told you many times before not to play your subversive music.  He gave me the authority to release you if you did it again tonight.”

 

The guitar screeched to sudden silence.  “Oh please, Bann Teagan, my Lord, don’t do that,” the minstrel said.  “I haven’t paid back the eyeglasses the Arl gave me yet, and I have no money and no place else to go.  Please give me another chance.  I only played it because no one was listening.”

 

“No.  You never listen.  You are constantly doing this, always your anti-Chantry music and upsetting the Arl’s guests.”

 

“It’s not anti-Chantry, my Lord.  I’m not anti-Chantry at all, I swear,” the minstrel said.  “It’s just my story of life set to music.  Nothing more.”

 

“You wrote a lyric about _‘The Vast Indifference of Heaven,’”_ Teagan said, chest heaving as he seethed.

 

“The Chantry teaches that the Maker left us,” the minstrel said.

 

“And will return when we all sing the Chant of Light, not songs like your bitter foolishness.  You’re out.  Go.  And give me the spectacles before you leave.  I will return them to Eamon.”  Teagan held out his hand expectantly.

 

The minstrel seemed to be trying not to burst into profanity.  He took off the elegant wire-framed spectacles perched on his small, pert nose and folded the bows, then placed them carefully on Bann Teagan’s outstretched palm, apparently just barely keeping himself from slapping them down there.  Then he tripled his grip on the neck of his guitar and gathered his dignity and began to walk away with his slim shoulders squared.  That was when Loghain stepped out of his corner toward them and spoke.

 

“Wait.”

 

It wasn’t his loudest voice, not by any means, but it was certainly louder than his “just chatting” voice, not that he typically used that voice with anyone other than his daughter or Cauthrien.  It wasn’t his “I’m the Alpha Male” voice that he used when speaking with the nobility, either.  This was a _command._

 

Teagan and the minstrel both looked back at him immediately.  When that voice gave a command, everyone obeyed, even if they meant not to.

 

“My Lord Teyrn, you have something to say?” Teagan asked.

 

“How much did those spectacles cost?” Loghain asked.

 

“A great deal, my Lord.  I don’t know how much, specifically.  You would have to speak to my brother about that,” Teagan said.

 

“I shall.”  Loghain took the eyeglasses from Teagan and handed them back to the minstrel.  He turned his attention to the bushy-haired elf.  “Come and work for me, Ser.  I’ll pay you a living wage, room and board, and you can play whatever music you want to play.  You may not be anti-Chantry but I am, so I don’t care what you think of the Maker because I probably think it as well, or something altogether worse.  Sing what you want about the bastard.”

 

The minstrel’s dark brown eyes grew huge.  “Why would you do that, my Lord?” he asked, in a very small, high-pitched voice.

 

“Because I like your music, dolt.  Is that so hard to figure?  I’ll have to get you a piano.  I don’t own one.  Never had use for a minstrel before.  But I presume the guitar is your own and not on loan from that prick Eamon?”

 

“Yes, my Lord.  It was a gift from my music teacher when I was a child.”

 

“Didn’t ask for your life story, just a simple yes or no.  Come on, let’s get out of this stinking place before someone throws up on our shoes and I have to kill them.”

 

He stalked out of the parlor, brushing rudely past Teagan, bumping shoulders with him, expecting that the minstrel would follow him, which of course he did with all speed.  In the corridor outside, a servant saw him and scurried up to him.

 

“My Lord Loghain, I had come to find you.  One of your own home servants is here for you.  They are in the main foyer,” the man said.

 

“And I suppose you don’t know what he wants,” Loghain said, folding his arms over his chest.

 

“Ah, no my Lord, I do not.”

 

“Then why didn’t _he_ come find me and _tell_ me what he wants?”

 

“My Lord, I cannot let an unsupervised elf run wild through my Lord’s estate,” the man said, putting a hand to his mouth in terror.

 

“You couldn’t come along with him, then?” he said, with a simultaneous ominous quirk of the eyebrow and roll of the eye.

 

“I have other responsibilities, my Lord,” the man said in a huff.

 

“Yes, you’re delivering this pointless message to me and wasting my time, you useless waste of human flesh.  Get out of my face.”

 

He reached out and shoved the flustered servant away from him and continued down the hallway to the main foyer, where he met his doorman, a trusty elder elven man with short, well-groomed silver hair and a quiet air of dignity.  He was waiting with his head held high and his hands folded behind his back.

 

Loghain stuck his hand out and shook with him, which made the minstrel’s eyes widen again.  “Haederith.  What brings you all the way to this pit of the Void to find me?”

 

“My Lord.  There is a… well, a _somewhat_ invited guest at the estate waiting to see you.  I thought you should be informed as soon as possible.  She seems… formidable.”

_“’Somewhat invited?’_ How can someone be ‘somewhat invited?’  When have you ever known me to invite anyone?”

 

“Ser, she claims she is… a Grey Warden.”

 

Loghain drew back slightly.  “Ah.  I see what you mean now.  She came on her own, then?  No one brought her in for the bounty?”

 

“I do not believe that anyone could have done, Ser,” Haederith said.

 

“Hmph!  Interesting!  I begin to think I know who you mean!  She always had herself a bit of a reputation for toughness, even before she became a ‘mythical’ Grey Warden.  This could be interesting.  She’s a rookie, though.  Hope she has some answers for me.  And isn’t here to kill me.  I’d really rather hate to have to put down the last of the Couslands, it would be like killing the last griffon all over again.”

 

“Didn’t the griffons just… die?” the minstrel ventured cautiously.

 

“Died off, killed off.  One way or the other they’re gone.  Let’s get going.  It’s just about suppertime and I’m starving.  There’s nothing to eat at this bloody poor excuse for a party, and who wants to eat around a bunch of people who are drunk and puking up their guts, anyway?”

 

They left the house and entered the darkness beyond the front doors.  Haederith did not seem at all discomposed that no guard joined them for the long walk from the Arl of Redcliffe’s Denerim estate to the Teyrn of Gwaren’s Denerim estate some distance to the south.  The minstrel stuck close behind Loghain.  It was the High Market, but it was still dangerous at night, especially for an elf.  Perhaps the Teyrn of Gwaren didn’t fear it, but Zevon the Minstrel did.

 

“Forgive me for speaking, my Lord, but shouldn’t you have a bodyguard at night?” he said.

 

“What for?  I can take care of myself.  And you as well, if that’s what you’re really afraid of,” Loghain said.

 

“No one will bother you,” Haederith said.  “You’re with the Teyrn.  The city thugs are not stupid enough to accost him.”

 

“Must be nice,” the minstrel said, under his breath.

 

In any event, they made it to the estate unmolested, and Haederith left their party inside the front door, where he replaced a younger elf he’d left in charge of the doors when he went to deliver his message.  The Teyrn shook hands with him again before moving on from the foyer.

 

“My Lord… you didn’t ask him where your guest was waiting for you,” the minstrel said.

 

“She’d be in the receiving parlor, under guard.  That’s just through this next door.”

 

“You keep your guests under guard?”

 

“When I’m not home to receive them and they’re uninvited in the first place, then yes, I do.  Come on.”

 

Loghain dismissed the guards from the door of the room and entered.  Hesitantly, the minstrel followed.  Inside the parlor, examining the weaponry on the walls, stood a young giant of a woman, very nearly as tall as the Teyrn himself, wearing heavy chain mail armor and a griffon wing helmet with an iron greatsword in harness on her back.  She heard their approach, not particularly subtle in the Teyrn’s case, and turned around.  She took off her helmet and shook down her long blonde ponytail at the same time.  Her crystal blue eyes traveled from Loghain’s face down his body, lingering on his shoulders, flat stomach, and particularly the front of his trousers.  Her small, secret smile broadened into something lecherous as she ogled him.  He cleared his throat to draw her attention upward.

 

“The Cousland Barbarian,” Loghain said, sneering a trifle.  “You survived the darkspawn.  You’re tougher than I thought.  Dumber, too.  Who would walk straight into the home of the man who put a bounty on you?”

 

“From what I understand, the man who put a bounty on my _life_ was actually a demon.  The man who _commuted_ that bounty is the real thing,” she said.

 

“So why did you come?  To tell your side of the story, or to kill me?”

 

“To set the record straight.  I expect that’s why you wanted to speak to a Grey Warden, yes?  My associate and I are the only two who managed to survive the battle, thanks to the fact that the taint within us draws the darkspawn to us.  In the Tower of Ishall, we were somewhat protected, and rescued via methods I don’t quite understand.”

 

“Let me guess: a white-haired old woman scooped you up in her talons and flew away with you?” he asked.

 

She was taken aback.  “I… was unconscious, so I do not know what happened, but I did waken in an old, white-haired woman’s hovel, healed by her magic powers.”

 

“Ah ha, I knew it.  Flemeth.”

 

“You know her,” she said.

 

“I’ve run into her a couple of times.  I’m about to have my dinner.  Would you care to dine with me, Cousland?  We can talk about this whole mess while we engorge ourselves.”

 

“If I won’t be in the way, that would be a delight, Teyrn Loghain,” she said with a short formal bow.

 

“All right, follow us.”

 

A man met them outside the door, a human man who was dressed in a manner that suggested a seneschal or a servant of high standing.  “My Lord?” the man inquired, as though his presence had been requested.

 

Loghain simply sighed.  “Friedrick.  As long as you’re here, have a room made up for, err… what is your name, again?  Zebron?  Xavier?”  He turned to look at the minstrel.

 

“Er, Zevon, Ser.”

 

“Oh, right.  Have a room made up for Zevon.  He’s going to be working for me from now on.”

 

“A… a live-in servant, Milord?” Friedrick said, looking confused.

 

“He’s a minstrel, Friedrick.”

 

“Oh.  Well, I expect the stables will be comfortable enough,” Friedrick began, but Loghain cut him off swiftly and viciously.

 

“If I’d intended for Serrah Zevon to sleep in the stables I’d have dropped him off there on the way in to the house,” he snapped, clipping his teeth together at the end of the sentence.  “Make for him room in the west wing.  There should still be plenty.  I trust you can see to an actual _room_ and not a _broom cupboard?”_

 

Flustered and frightened, Friedrick scurried away, saluting and bowing and stumbling over his apologies as he went.  Warden Cousland raised her hand and pointed at Loghain.  “Ser, your eyes.  They just started glowing.  Like _lyrium!”_

 

Loghain looked to Zevon for confirmation, as did the Warden, but Zevon simply backed away two steps and stammered out, “I did not see anything, my Lord.”  He was ghostly pale and shaking, his eyes popping from his head, giving the lie to everything he said, but Loghain took his words as a victory nevertheless and looked at the Warden as though to say, _“There, you see, Crazy Woman?”_

 

“Liar,” the Warden whispered to the minstrel.  She stuck her tongue out at him for emphasis.

 

Loghain turned and led them down the hall without further ado and they followed, until they were met by a pair of pretty young women.  The elder was blonde-haired, with straight-cut bangs, and neck-length straight-cut hair, pale skin, and light, bright blue eyes.  The younger had shoulder length, wavy brown hair, liquid dark eyes and darker, and sun-tanned skin.  Still, there was enough resemblance between them to suggest sisterhood.  They were both wearing fine gowns and carrying staves.

 

“Ser, is… is Carver not with you?” the blonde one said.

 

“Sorry, Hawke,” he said.  “He’s back at the estate, watching purple dragons fly.”

 

“What?” the younger girl said, screwing up her pretty face in confusion.  “Purple dragons?”

 

“He was partying quite happily with the stuffed shirts when he took what an educated guess tells me was his first gulp of a drink known as _‘aquae lucidus.’_ Even for a man accustomed to it, it is… potent stuff.  Made from wyvern venom.  It’s a favorite among Orlesian nobility.  He’ll be seeing visions for at least a few days.  Don’t worry, Eamon’s servants will take care of the poor lad.”

 

“Wyvern venom?  How could you let him do that?” Hawke said in alarm.

 

“How could I stop him?  He’s a grown man, if only technically.  _Ha!_ I remember the time Maric tricked me into taking a drink of the stuff myself.  Wanted to see me writhing on the floor screaming about giant owls and pussycats, I suppose.  I got lucky.  Took a drink and immediately puked up my guts.  Not exactly dignified but better than giving him the show he wanted.  Don’t worry about your brother, ladies, he’ll be fine in a few days.  Let’s have some dinner already, eh?  I’m starved.  Where’s your mother?”

 

“Down the corridor, waiting.  She’s still intimidated to be living in the Teyrn of Gwaren’s Denerim estate,” Hawke said.  “She doesn’t want to get too close to you, or risk talking to you.”

 

“Is that because I’m Teyrn of Gwaren, or because she thinks I might be a demon?” Loghain asked.

 

“No one thinks you’re a demon,” Hawke said, smiling.

 

“Hmm,” Loghain said, and continued walking down the hall without another word.


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner with the Mac Tirs...

No servant led them into the dining room nor showed them to their places at the table.  Loghain simply preceded them all into a large room, chest out, and sat down at the long dining table within.  The Hawkes found seats swiftly, with the family mabari at their feet begging, and not knowing what other purpose he might have, Zevon the minstrel set himself up in the corner and tuned up his guitar until he felt the weight of eyes upon him.

 

He looked up to see Loghain staring at him.  He cleared his throat nervously.  “Er, yes, my Lord?”

 

“What are you doing?” Loghain said.  The mabari barked in response to his short tone.

 

“Preparing to play?” he said, not liking the way his voice cracked in answer.

 

“Aren’t you hungry?”

 

“Um… rather?”

 

“Then sit down and eat, man,” Loghain said, gesturing at the table.

 

Eat?  At the table?  With… humans?  And an actual Ferelden Lord?  Zevon began to slink cautiously toward the door.

 

“That’s… all right, Ser.  I’d be just fine eating in the kitchen,” he said, stammering again.

 

“Nonsense.  Don’t feel self-conscious.  Just sit down and eat.  You’re not a servant.”

 

“You are paying me to… serve you, Ser.”

 

“Not exactly.  I don’t require a minstrel under ordinary circumstances.”

 

“So… what, then, Ser?  I’ll just be living here?”

 

“Composing your music.  Playing whatever you want whenever you want.  Getting paid for it.  Sounds like a decent ‘gig,’ doesn’t it?”

 

“Ex…cept a musician usually wants for an audience…” Zevon said cautiously.

 

“I’ll listen to anything you have to play for me.  I’m not much on music usually, but I liked what I heard tonight.  Wouldn’t have hired you if I hadn’t,” Loghain said.  “Now sit down and eat.”

 

Zevon quickly slid into a chair at the far end of the table and laid a serviette out on his skinny lap.  A bevy of servants came in carrying platters and tureens and began doling out soup and meat and various dishes.  There seemed to be an endless amount of food.  Zevon turned most of it down, not having that large of a stomach, and he saw that the Hawkes, to whom he had not been properly introduced, which was not surprising to him, also turned down the bulk of it.  Loghain, on the other hand, accepted it all, and sat with plates and bowls of food surrounding him, more food than it seemed even a very fat man, which he was not, could eat.  He set to eating immediately, cleared everything before anyone else was half done, and signaled the waiting servants to refill everything, which they immediately did.  Thankfully, he ate his second helpings more slowly.

 

“Warden Cousland.  I’m sorry, I never asked your proper name,” Loghain said, pausing with a forkful of beef halfway to his mouth and his elbow planted firmly on the table.

 

“Elilia,” she said, coming up from her own copious platefuls of food, though she was not yet done with her first helpings, as she ate more slowly and properly.

 

“Elilia.  Did your parents hold a grudge with you, to give you such a name?”

 

“I might ask the same question of you, _Loghain,”_ she said immediately, grinning fiercely.

 

He laughed a short laugh.  “Point taken.  In my case, it was heritage.  My grandfather and his grandfather were both named Loghain.  Not exactly a tradition I feel worth upholding, but my father disagreed with me.  All right, _Elilia_ , tell me: since you… and your mysterious ‘companion’ you did not choose to bring along with you… are the last of the Ferelden wardens… exactly what do you have planned for Ferelden?  And what use are you?”

 

“Well, we are in possession of ancient treaties,” she said.

 

“Treaties?  What kind of treaties?” he said, showing some degree of interest.

 

“Treaties commanding the full cooperation of the Dwarves of Orzammar, the mages of the Circle, and the Dalish elves in times of Blight, such as now.  We intend to put these treaties to use, and rebuild the army that was lost at Ostagar,” the Warden said.

 

“For what purpose?” Loghain asked.

 

She was momentarily speechless.  “Why, to defend Ferelden from the darkspawn, of course,” she said, once she’d collected herself.

 

“Ah.  I see.  Well, that’s very admirable, but it really wasn’t what I meant when I asked you what your plan was.”

 

“Well, what did you mean, then?”

 

“I meant the Grey Wardens in general.  The Envy demon that took my place wanted rid of you for some odd reason, and told me that you were in on the conspiracy to be rid of me.  I admit that if you were, it’s passing strange that he would try to kill you, but I’m not one to judge how a demon’s mind works or what it’s been commanded to do by its overlords.  I’d like to hear from you what’s going on.”

 

Her brilliant blue eyes, _Cousland_ blue eyes, the pride of her family, were wide and guileless.  “I know nothing of any Grey Warden conspiracies, Ser.  Truth be told, my Lord, I barely know anything about the Grey Wardens at all.  Warden Commander Duncan’s death left myself and Warden Alistair quite badly unprepared.  We’re both very green, I’m afraid.  He knows a bit more than I, but refuses to take command.  He’s really quite… whiny.  A good fellow but a bit… childish.”

 

“Ah ha.  So you don’t know anything about anything.  Convenient.”

 

“Well, I will admit that not knowing anything at all about the Order sucks righteously, but I’ll tell you everything I _do_ know.  Maker’s ass, you probably know more than I,” she said.

 

“Doubtful.  Wardens are overly fond of their secrets.  They’ve been back in this nation for twenty years and all I know about them is that they got Maric involved in a conspiracy to overthrow him and give every being on the face of Thedas the Blight straight out of the gate.  You can imagine why I don’t exactly trust you, I hope.”

 

“I… suppose that I can.  Give everyone on the face of Thedas the Blight?  Whatever for?  Surely the Wardens would never stand for such a thing?” she said.

 

“No, that wasn’t the wardens themselves but some kind of talking darkspawn.  Some of the wardens fought it but they lost _one_ of their number to its ideology, as I understand it.  A dwarf named Utha.  I don’t quite understand what it meant to do, but giving all of us the Blight was how it meant to end the Blights, somehow.  And one of the wardens apparently _agreed_ with it.”

 

“She couldn’t have.  Not a warden,” the Warden said, horrified.  “People infected with the Blight die, or turn into ghouls and become darkspawn slaves.  No right-thinking warden would agree with such a plan.”

 

“Yes, well, I’m not certain I’ve met a right-thinking warden yet.  Duncan was among that number, and he was always as nutty as a shithouse rat.”

 

The Warden flinched.  “Ew, don’t say that around my fellow warden.  He already blames you for Duncan’s death, and he practically reveres the man as his substitute father, even though he only knew him for about six months.”

 

“I don’t particularly care what your fellow warden thinks.”

 

“I don’t either, but he will be upset.  It will make things difficult.”

 

“Do you need him?”

 

“He’s useful.  Carries a shield.  Good for bouncing off of solid objects.”

 

“Always good for a large, boneheaded young man to have a purpose.”

 

“That’s how I’ve always felt,” she said.  “Who gave you yours?”

 

“Ha!  Harpy,” he said, grinning with all his teeth showing.  “I found mine in the Rebellion.  Have you found yours yet?”

 

“I’ll settle for ending the Blight and saving Ferelden for now.  Isn’t that what you want to do as well?  We’re on the same side.”

 

“Yes, I suppose we are.  For the time being, assuming your words are true.  Is there anything _you_ wish to ask of me?”

 

“One thing only.  You returned from Ostagar and killed the impostor that took your place and killed our king.  You then promptly secured for yourself an alliance of convenience with the man who massacred my family, Arl, now ‘Teyrn,’ Rendon Howe.  Why did you do that when you know what he did?” she asked, staring hard directly at him.

 

“Ah.  I knew this was coming, your well-bred politeness aside.  The truth of the matter is, he convinced me that he was taken in by my impostor, like everyone else.  Showed me the false evidence my impostor gave him that showed that your father was traitor to the Crown, working for the Orlesians, quite convincing stuff, very well forged.  He was convincingly distraught to have killed his best friend and his family at the behest of a demon.  Said he’d take any punishment I meant to dole out for his actions.”

 

“But you didn’t punish him,” she said, speaking rather tightly.

 

“Was it his fault, or mine in the end?” he asked.

 

 _“He_ killed my family, but you’re rather making of yourself an accomplice after the fact,” she said, cocking her head to the side inquisitively.  “I don’t understand why you would do that.”

 

“Because he was tricked.  By a _demon_.  The demon even fooled my _daughter_ for a time.  How could Arl Howe, someone I barely ever interacted with, have _failed_ to have succumbed?  Do you even know whether you met me or the demon at the camp in Ostagar?”

 

She paused, thinking, and then said, “Well you knew about that, so I have to assume it was you.”

 

“And do you know whether I am Loghain or the demon?  You claim you saw my eyes glow,” he said, and put down his utensils altogether.  He steepled his fingers.  “You want revenge, that much is obvious.  You think that will bring your family back?  It doesn’t.  It doesn’t alleviate anything, either, believe me.  I wanted vengeance against the whole of a nation for the loss of my family.  I still feel like I haven’t gotten it.  Do you know why?  Because vengeance is never enough.  It eats away at you.”

 

“As a child I rode on that man’s shoulders.  I called him ‘Uncle Rendon.’  He told the best stories.  We trusted him, and he betrayed us.  He killed my parents.  He _murdered_ my sister-in-law, and my little nephew Oren, who had never even seen a sword before.  And I haven’t even told my brother yet, don’t even know if he’s _alive_ , thanks to that mess back at Ostagar.  I won’t be satisfied until I see that bastard dead on the point of my own blade.”

 

“You should learn forgiveness while you’re still young enough to do so.  Not all the world’s problems can be solved with the tip of a sword.”

 

“Could you forgive such a thing if it was done to you?” she said.

 

“It _was_ done to me, in it’s own way, and no, I never forgave.  It has poisoned my heart and my soul my whole life long, ruined things I ought to have taken comfort in.  Learn from my mistake,” he said, staring back at her with powerful intensity.

 

“Forgiveness is for fools.  That man must die,” she said through her teeth.

 

“Finish your dinner,” Loghain said, and picked up his fork again.

 

“I can accept why _you_ think you should forgive him.  You think you were responsible for what he did.  You’re _wrong,_ but I accept it.  All I need to understand is why you would place him at your right hand?  You can’t trust the bastard.  He’s a liar and a snake.”

 

“Would you have said the same of him before he killed your family?” Loghain said mildly.

 

“As I got older I began to recognize how disingenuous he really was.”

 

“A smarmy attitude is part of being a noble greasing up to a higher ranking noble.  He also wanted you to marry his son, no doubt.”

 

 _“You can’t trust him,”_ she said, slamming her fist down on the table and making her plates rattle.

 

“I know that.  I never _have_ trusted him.  But I can use him.  He has political prowess, something I’ve never had.  Anora used to help me out with that, but she’s too busy running the country now.  With all the nobles half-afraid of what I might be and half pissed off at me for what I’m asking of them, I need him.”

 

“You can’t find anyone else to explain diplomacy and politics to you?”

 

“Possibly, but unlikely.  I don’t have that much leverage over anyone else.  Howe’s life is held in my hands.”

 

The Warden paused.  “I see.  You defer punishment to keep him beholden to you.  Clever.”

 

“I’ve heard every now and then that I have something of a reputation in certain parts of the nation for some degree of cleverness,” Loghain said, and stuffed a huge forkful of steamed asparagus into his mouth.

 

“All right, I can… get behind that.  So long as punishment is forthcoming,” the Warden said.  “And as long as I am in on the punishment when it is delivered.”

 

“Finish your dinner.”

 

“Do you like being vague and noncommittal?  Or is ‘finish your dinner’ your way of granting approval?”

 

“Just eat, goddamn it.  Your food is getting cold.  The serving staff wants their dinner, too.”

 

“They eat the same food prepared for you and your guests?”

 

“Yes.  You find that strange?”

 

“Well, it’s… not the way things were done in _my_ household.”

 

“Well, it’s the way things are done in mine.  Probably the difference between being born to privilege and being born on the bannorn.”

 

“Doesn’t that get awfully expensive?”

 

“Have you seen anything on this table today that’s imported or especially fancy?”

 

“Well, actually, no.  I haven’t.”

 

“Then no, it doesn’t.”

 

No one spoke for a time after that conversation killer, until Leandra gathered her courage and dabbed at her mouth with her serviette.  “Warden.  You are Lady Cousland of Highever, is that not so?” she said.

 

“Not exactly,” the Warden said.  “As a Grey Warden, I’m not allowed a title any longer.”

 

“Still, you are as you were born.  Being a Grey Warden cannot change who you are.  I was born Lady Leandra Amell of Kirkwall, until I married a Fereldan apostate.  My parents were terribly angry with me and threatened to disown me, but I remain who I was born.  Nothing can take who you are away from you.”

 

“I don’t know.  I’ve never felt like a ‘Lady’ anything,” the Warden said.  “You see this big black tattoo on my face?  I got it when I was sixteen, to make Arl Urien Kendalls rescind his offer of a betrothal with his son Vaughan, who is absolutely vile.  It worked, but you can imagine how unhappy my parents were with me.  That’s when people started calling me ‘the Cousland Barbarian.’  I haven’t exactly done anything since to dissuade them of the moniker.”

 

“Facial tattoos are fairly commonplace in Ferelden,” Hawke said.

 

“Not among young female nobility,” the Warden said.  “Makes marriage contracts difficult to arrange.  Noblemen don’t want wives with potentially bigger balls than they.”

 

 _“Ha!”_ Loghain burst out.  “S’truth!”

 

“Not that I wanted to marry any of them,” the Warden continued.  “I’m not _chattel_.  I know my parents just wanted me to have a good future, but everyone else just wanted the esteem of having a family connection to the Teyrn of Highever.  And I don’t fancy the idea of being a mother.  Children are all right when they’re someone else’s, but I don’t have the patience for them.  They smell and they squirm and they cry and they’re… just generally annoying for… their whole entire lives.”

 

“You don’t want _children?”_ Bethany said, wide-eyed and amazed.

 

“No.  It’s my choice.  Granted, as a young noblewoman, I’m not supposed to _make_ that choice, but is it so odd that I might want to?”

 

“I’ve never even given it a thought before,” Bethany said.  “I’m an apostate.  I’ll never have a family of my own, whether I want to or not.  I have no choice.”

 

“Your father was an apostate.  _He_ had a family,” the Warden pointed out.

 

“And we had a hard life, growing up apostates,” Bethany said.  “I wouldn’t do that to my children.”

 

“Then you’ve _made_ a choice,” the Warden said.  “Don’t say you didn’t have one.  It was a _hard_ choice, but a choice nevertheless.  If your father hadn’t made the opposite choice, you wouldn’t be alive.  Would you rather _not_ be alive than to have had a difficult life?”

 

“No, no, of course not!” Bethany said.  “It’s just… I’d rather not have been such a source of trouble in my loved ones’ lives.”

 

“Children are naturally troublesome.  Would you rather not have them than have them be troublesome to you?”

 

Bethany subsided into her chair and apparently into herself as well, thinking.  “For a woman who doesn’t like children, you serve a pretty good pitch for motherhood,” Loghain said.

 

“I wouldn’t want someone to make the wrong choice for themselves based on fear,” the Warden said.  “‘Stand up and fight for yourself,’ that’s my motto.”

 

“Good motto.  You didn’t fight for your parents.”

 

The Warden slammed down her knife and fork.  “I _wanted_ to.  I would’ve _died_ fighting for them.  _Duncan_ wouldn’t let me.  He _insisted_ on getting a _Grey Warden_ out of the castle.  My parents bargained my life for his Grey Warden and Duncan dragged me out kicking and screaming, and my parents didn’t even know that being a Grey Warden meant I would die _anyway!”_

 

“What do you mean?” Loghain asked without emotion.

 

“Grey Wardens are _purposely_ infected by the Blight.  We’re just the lucky few resistant enough not to _die_ right away.  We’re still dying, it just takes awhile.  Maybe thirty years, if we’re lucky.  Then we go to the Deep Roads to fight darkspawn ‘til we die.  Cheery, isn’t it?  What a _pleasant_ fate my parents gave me, all for the sake of vengeance against Howe.  If I’d stayed and fought, like I wanted, we _all_ might be alive right now and I could _still_ have vengeance.”

 

“You have a high opinion of your martial skills,” Loghain said.

 

“I’m very well-trained.”

 

“So are most knights, but they still die when they’re grossly outnumbered, say when their castles are taken by storm when their armies are away.”

 

“Then I would have died defending my family.”

 

“Then you would have died foolishly.”

 

“What the _fuck_ do you want from me?” she said, standing up so quickly her chair toppled backwards.  “You rag on me for not defending my parents, then you tell me that it would have been stupid to do so.  Are you just intentionally trying to piss me the fuck off?”

 

“Pretty much,” Loghain said, perfectly calmly.  “Call it ‘testing your personality.’  Trying to get to know you.  I think I know as much about you as I need to for the time being.”

 

He wiped his mouth with a napkin and threw it down while he stood up and came around the table.  “You won’t be satisfied until you take vengeance on Howe, that much was obvious from the start.  What I’m not so sure of is how far you’ll go after that.  You’ve got a bad temper, Warden Elilia.  I’m a bit afraid for myself of where it will lead you.”

 

“What are you saying?”

 

He gave a hand signal, and the serving staff retreated and guard staff entered.  “I hope you’ll go quietly, Warden.  Cooperation with me will see you out of my dungeons peacefully within a matter of a short while.  If you struggle, I’ll make it much more difficult for you.”

 

“You’re putting me in prison?” she said, seething.

 

“Just until I can see this situation resolved.”

 

“What situation?” she said, fairly screaming.  “I came here in the spirit of peace and cooperation, and offered you all the assistance and answers I could provide, and _you_ _throw me in the dungeons!”_

 

“I never told you I wasn’t an asshole.  Now drop your weapons like a good girl and let my people escort you to your cell.”

 

Breathing heavily, she stared at him for a long moment, eyes flashing, then unsheathed her greatsword and dropped it to the floor with a clatter.  The guards surrounded her and led her out of the room quietly.  Loghain sat back down and regarded the rest of his guests evenly.

 

“Remember this.  It’s always a good thing to remember that I’m an asshole at heart,” he said, and finished off the last spoonful of his beef stew.


	7. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loghain, the Warden, and their companions go hunting for blood mages in the city and meet a new friend.

Elilia Cousland stood gripping the bars of her cell and staring out at him.  “If you want my help as you claim, you’re going about it the wrong way.  I _offered_ my help, and _you_ threw me in the dungeon.”

 

“A nice, clean cell with a nice straw mattress, a cat to keep the rats away, the same food the rest of us in the house eat, three times a day.  You’re practically a houseguest,” he said, staring back at her from just beyond her reach outside the cell bars.

 

“Except for the bars,” she said, sneering.

 

“Precaution, my dear.  I get very little sleep at night as it is.  I need as much as I can get, preferably without my houseguests coming into my chambers to slice open my throat.”

 

“So you still want my assistance?  You just don’t trust me?” she said.

 

“Don’t take it personally, my dear.  I don’t trust very many people.”

 

“Throwing me in the dungeons has _increased_ my desire to do so rather than lessened it.”

 

“But lessened your ability, my dear,” he said.  He started pacing before the cell with his hands clasped behind his back.  “In any event, I come with good news for you, potentially.  My daughter heard of you, and wishes to speak to you, hear of your agenda from your own lips.  My daughter has never set foot in my dungeons and never shall, so that means you shall taste of freedom, if you agree to cooperate.  Speak well enough for yourself and I may even let you go.  All I’ve wanted you to do from the beginning is speak enough of your plans that I knew your full intentions.”

 

“All I’ve _done_ from the beginning is to speak of my plans,” she said, spitting the words like cobra venom.

 

He raised a warning finger.  “Now be nice, dear.  You’ll be speaking with the Queen, don’t forget.  Behave yourself.”

 

“How much did you pay Maric to get him to marry his son to your daughter?” she asked.  His only response was the slight quirk of an eyebrow.  He stepped forward and drew a large set of keys from his belt.  He unlocked her cell door.  “No guards?  No weapons?  Do you really think that wise?” she said.

 

“Do you really think you can take me on?  _You_ don’t have any weapons, and all you really know is that I don’t have a sword on my back or my belt.  I will tell you right now, it is never a good idea to assume that _I_ am unarmed.”

 

She cocked her head and eyed him.  “All right, I can respect that,” she said.

 

“You’d better,” he said.  “Come along.”

 

“You know, it’s a damn good thing you’re so fucking edible,” the Warden said as he let her out of the cell.

 

“I beg your pardon?” he said, nonplussed.

 

“Oh, never mind,” she said petulantly, and stepped into place ahead of him.  He walked her out of the dungeons and up the stairs through the corridors of the estate to his private study, where Anora awaited them, delicate in her silk gown and her perfect posture.

 

“Warden Cousland.  Pleased to make your acquaintance,” she said, sketching a formal curtsey.  “I am so sorry about what happened to your family.  Your mother in particular was very dear to me.  Almost a mother to me after my own passed away.  I shed many tears when I heard about the atrocity that occurred.”

 

“But you didn’t do anything about it, as evidenced by the fact that Rendon Howe is still breathing,” the Warden said.  Loghain tapped her hard on top of the head with two large fingers.

 

 _“Father,”_ Anora said, knitting severe blonde brows.  Her face softened and she regarded the Warden again.  “It was my father’s decision, leaving Howe unpunished.  I will confess it was one of the few things on which we disagree.  However, I can see his side of it, assuming Howe is telling the truth in that he was taken _in_ by the conspiracy and was not part of it in the first place.  I’m not so certain of that myself, certainly not so assured of it so that I would keep him at my right hand…”

 

“Like you keep an avowed Orlesian Bard at your right hand, my dear?” Loghain said, without any apparent rancor with a quirk of irony in one black eyebrow.

 

The queen opened her mouth for a comeback and realized she did not have one.  She closed her mouth and smiled.  Not a very friendly smile, at least not for her father.  It became more genuine in appearance when she turned it upon the Warden.

 

“I would like to hear your plans for saving Ferelden from the darkspawn, Warden.  My father told me you have some.”

 

“They’re nothing too complicated, Your Majesty.  My companion warden and I are simply in possession of ancient Grey Warden treaties commanding the cooperation of the Dalish, the Dwarven Kingdom, and the Circle of Magi.  We intend to call in these debts, rebuild the army we lost, before it’s too late.  Before we lose Ferelden to the darkspawn.  Your father doesn’t trust the Grey Wardens, and from what he told me I can somewhat understand, but Alistair and I were Fereldan long before we were wardens.  We intend to defend this nation with our lives.”

 

“So, what then?  You’re just going to run around the woods searching for Dalish elves until you happen to find a clan and hope they don’t kill you on sight before you can even tell them you’re Grey Wardens?  That might take longer than we have, Warden,” Loghain said.

 

“Particularly now that I’m in _prison,”_ the Warden shot back.

 

“May I see these treaties?” Anora said.

 

“I left them with my companion outside of Denerim, just in case things went… _sour,”_ the Warden said, giving a particularly sour look to Loghain.

 

“Unexpectedly wise of you,” Loghain said, nodding slightly.

 

“Well, whether these treaties exist or not, I find the notion of gathering allies from within and without Ferelden a very good one at the current time.  I do not know that you can do it on your own, however.  Don’t you think you could perhaps use some assistance?”

 

The Warden laughed a short, sharp laugh.  “I’ll take all the help I can get.  I’ve already drawn together a small group of misfits, but I’d happily take official help if I can get it.  It was in that hope that I came here.”

 

Anora turned and stepped over to the stuffed quillback that remained from the previous Teyrn of Gwaren.  Her father did not hunt for sport.  She examined the creature at length, as though she cared, and touched one of the quills.  Then she turned back and said very suddenly, “Take my father with you.”

 

They both exploded.  “This man had me in his _dungeon,”_ the Warden said, almost foaming at the mouth.

 

“For a grand total of six hours,” Anora said.

 

“You want to be rid of me?  That was your big plan all along, wasn’t it?” Loghain said in a bombastic voice at very nearly the same moment.

 

“No, Father, but it seems to me now a fine solution to certain problems that have arisen recently.  The nobility is anxious and afraid.  They’re making terrible noises about what happened at the Landsmeet and I’m having great difficulties placating them.  I hate to say it, but out of sight, Father, is out of mind.  If you will consent to leave Denerim for a time, I believe I can get the nobility under control again.  As it stands now many of them are close to outright revolution.  If you go with the Warden, you can be of great use to the nation at the same time, and to Lady Cousland, who no doubt requires a man of your experience.”

 

The Warden cocked an eyebrow and looked at him as though she saw something she liked in that idea, possibly something Anora hadn’t perceived in her own words.  Anora either did not see the look or was well-bred enough to ignore it.  Loghain shifted uncomfortably.

 

“You really think this is the best idea?” he said.  “Who knows how long it will take.  We haven’t even found the conspirators, yet.  Who knows what they might be cooking up?”

 

“I have an idea,” the Warden said.  Loghain looked at her, as did Anora.  The Warden shrugged.  “I heard that the demon said there were mages after you, maybe controlling you, controlling it, letting it get to you, get in your head, learn about you, right?  Well, they’re probably not Circle mages, right?  Probably.  So why not look for them here in Denerim while we’re here?  If you’re coming with me, that is.  They might’ve skedaddled already, but Denerim makes for a nice, tidy base of operations for controlling nobles if that’s what they’re into, I’d be tempted to push my luck and stay if I were them.  Maybe we can track ‘em down, clear ‘em out before we leave and rejoin my party.  It’ll give you a chance to see what I can do, if nothing else.  There’s always bad people on the back streets of Denerim.”

 

“I’ve had people out looking for them as it is.  Did you think I hadn’t?” Loghain said.

 

“And if they got close they probably got blood-maged, or whatever they call it,” the Warden said.  “Come on.  The two of us, taking them by storm, crushing them beneath our fists.  They won’t know what’s coming ‘til it’s over!”

 

“You have a great deal of self-confidence, my dear,” Loghain said, “and you are apparently far more forgiving than I had expected, if you’re so willing to forget that I had you in my dungeons.”

 

“Only for six hours,” the Warden said.  “I actually slept fairly well, ‘til you came and woke me up.”

 

“Well, I suppose looking for these back alley mages, if any, might stand as a test of your skill and where your loyalties lie.  Still, I would prefer not to face a host of maleficarum  with only myself and another warrior.  I think perhaps we should gather some voluntary assistance.  Some magic that’s on our side would be nice, as well, though I’d hate to ask the Hawke sisters to come along on such a mission.  They’re not terribly experienced in battle.”

 

“Well, you learn by doing, don’t you?” the Warden said.

 

“Yes, but in battle it’s also a matter of learning by not _dying,”_ Loghain said.  “I promised to keep those girls safe until they have their own home again.”

 

“How did they become _your_ responsibility?” the Warden asked.

 

“I convinced them to stay in Ferelden when they intended to flee the Blight for family in the Free Marches.  I convinced them to serve me, but I never intended for them to have to _die_ for me.”

 

“Well, we can protect them, can’t we?  Along with whomever else you scare up to help,” the Warden said, fluttering her eyelashes.  “Magic at any level would be a big help.”

 

“It seems as though the two of you have come to an agreement on this, yes?” Anora said, clapping her hands together gently.  “I am glad.  Can I leave you to your preparations, or do you require a personal palace guard to keep the peace?”

 

Loghain stepped forward, took Anora by the shoulders, and kissed her on the brow.  “We’ll be just fine, dear.  You needn’t worry.”

 

“So you will do this for me, Father?  For Ferelden?  Leave the city, leave the nation in my hands?”

 

“I shall.  I trust you.”

 

Anora let out a great breath the Warden hadn’t known the Queen was holding.  “Thank you, Father.  Your trust means everything to me.”  Loghain grunted with a noncommittal shrug of the shoulders.

 

Anora returned to the palace and Loghain sent out a few runners to various people he thought would make good partners for this venture into the back streets of Denerim looking for people who probably weren’t there, as he said.  By the time breakfast was over they’d gathered a small crew consisting of themselves, the sisters Hawke, Aveline, and Commander Cauthrien herself.

 

“Do you typically work with nothing but women?” the Warden asked of Loghain sardonically as they assembled.

 

He shrugged.  “No, but a good man is a good man no matter their gender or race.  These are good men.  They just happen to be women.”

 

“Hmm.  I find that statement vaguely insulting and surprisingly complimentary at the same time,” the Warden said, nodding thoughtfully.

 

“I don’t really care,” Loghain replied.

 

“What is our mission, Ser?” Aveline asked, as she tied back her hair and adjusted her headband.

 

“Nothing easy, if we find what we’re looking for,” Loghain said.  “We’re hoping to find maleficarum, the same maleficarum hopefully that played a part in putting a demon in my place at Ostagar.  The Warden here thinks they might be holed up in Denerim to wreak a little generalized havoc amongst the nobility, and I’ll admit the idea has its strong points.  Still, I think we’re looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack.  They could be anywhere.  If we’re going to find them we’re going to have to look for clues.”

 

“Don’t you think we should have some templars if we’re going to look for blood mages?” Cauthrien said.

 

“You know my feelings about the templars, my dear,” Loghain said.  “And you know their feelings about _me.”_

 

“Ah.  Yes.”

 

“The templars don’t like you, Ser?” Hawke said, confused.

 

“Not exactly.  The Divine declared me anathema after the Battle of River Dane, when it became popular in Orlais to tell the _ridiculous_ story that the High Dragon that decimated the Orlesian army before the battle was actually myself.  In Ferelden they kindly look the other way, but let’s just say I make most Priests and templars uncomfortable and leave it at that,” Loghain said.

 

“His not-quietly-held beliefs about the Chantry help with that situation, I’m sure,” Cauthrien said.

 

“I never claimed to be a good little Andrastian boy,” Loghain said.  “Supplant one tyrannical empire with another.  Always a good historical move.”

 

“I don’t think Orlais was Andraste’s fault,” the Warden said.

 

“No, but they took her scripture and bent it ‘til it suits them.  Now no one can speak out against them,” he said.  “Come on, we’re wasting the day.”

 

“So… we’re going up against blood mages… without templars…?” Bethany said as they set out of the estate and onto the streets.  “Now I don’t like templars any more than the next apostate, but… they have their uses in certain circumstances.  Perhaps we could put our differences aside just this once?”

 

“If I knew any templars personally I might risk it,” Loghain said.  “As it stands I don’t know any, and they’d all most likely refuse to work with me.  Templars are touchy about working for anyone but the Chantry as it stands.  We could ask, I suppose, but I don’t know that they’d let two apostate mages walk free, no matter who they stood with.  Perhaps particularly if they stood with me.  Meaning I’d end up having to kill them.”

 

“Ah.  Well, maybe then we should just take on the blood mages on our own, what say you, Bethany?” Hawke said.

 

“Sounds like the right idea,” Bethany said.

 

“If you’d rather stay behind, do so,” Loghain said.  “I’d sooner not take you into danger at all.”

 

“Makes me almost wish I’d brought Alistair along,” the Warden said.  “He was in training to be a templar before he became a warden.  He might’ve come in handy.”  


“How far away is he?” Loghain asked.

 

“About a half a day’s walk on the Pilgrim’s Path.  My other companions would come in handy, too.  I have a young woman who can pick locks and detect traps and a mage of some skill as well as a qunari warrior.”

 

Loghain paused.  “Those people sound like they would come in handy.  I can pick locks and detect traps when I have to, but I won’t say I’m not rusty at it.  Where did you come by a qunari warrior?”

 

“Lothering.”

 

“Do you mean the _murderer_ that the Chanters had locked up in the cage on the edge of town?  I thought he escaped!” Hawke said.

 

“No, the Revered Mother turned him over to my custody, after a sizable tithe of gold I didn’t really have to spare and my companion Sister Leliana’s assurances that I was trustworthy.  He’s nice and quiet and he follows orders.  The perfect companion, for a murderer, except for that he refuses to believe that I am, in fact, female.”

 

“Why doesn’t he believe that?” Aveline asked.

 

“Because apparently women are not _warriors,_ under the Qun.  It.  Isn’t _‘done.’”_

 

“So… you can’t be a woman under that rationale, because you are a warrior?” Cauthrien said.  “I suppose then that I am not a woman, either.”

 

 _“He_ wouldn’t believe it of you.”

 

“I don’t know anything about the Qun but it seems a closed-minded philosophy if it won’t let you believe a warrior is female just because they’re a warrior,” Loghain said.  “I wonder what they have to say about people who think of themselves as the opposite gender from what they were actually born?”

 

“What do _you_ have to say about those people?” the Warden said.

 

“I don’t know, but surrounded by all of you I may be becoming one,” Loghain said.  “Let’s move.  We’re not going to bring these people here in time for them to do us any good today.”

 

They set off into the city, leaving the High Market for the Alienage.  They made for a conspicuous party in this haven of the poor and the elven, and they certainly made everyone nervous, but when a small group of young elves, two young dark-haired men and a red-headed young woman, came up to speak with them, things looked rather ugly until the Hahren came out of his house and approached.

 

“Excuse us, um, Sers, but… surely you’ve come to the wrong place,” one of the young men, who wore his long, dark hair in a single long braid, said.  He had liquid dark eyes and a handsome face.  The other young man was quite handsome, too, and close enough in appearance to show relation.

 

“What do you mean?” Loghain said, staring back with his cold grey-blue eyes.

 

“I just mean you must have gotten turned around somehow.  This is the elven Alienage, good people,” the young man said.  “There is nothing here for you, except perhaps for danger.  There are many thugs and cutthroats here.  I would hate for you to find unpleasantness.”

 

“Just get them _out_ of here, Loghain,” the red-headed woman said, scowling over her crossed arms.  Loghain cocked an eyebrow at her, but it was the young man who hissed at her in response.

 

“Just be _quiet,_ Shianni,” he said.  “I said I’ll handle this.”

 

“They’re not leaving, Loghain,” the other young man said.  “This is going to end like Arl Vaughan at our weddings last night, Cousin.  We’re going to have to try to push them out of here, and there’s an awful lot more of them and a lot of them look a _lot_ better armed and they don’t look drunk, either.”

 

“Shut _up,_ Soris.  This doesn’t have to be that way.”

 

“It’s _always_ that way with humans,” Shianni said.

 

 _“Shianni!”_ the calm young elf said.

 

As things were beginning to unravel for the young elf, Hahren Valendrian walked up.  “General!  What brings you here?  _‘Elvhen dena’hm tor’val nir val’dahm.’_ ”  Valendrian clapped his right hand to his left arm as he said these strange words and saluted.  The young elves looked at the man their elder addressed in that way and their eyes grew wide.

 

“Oh… Oh, Maker.  General… _Loghain?”_ Shianni said.  She looked ready to vomit.

 

“Hahren, you never told us you were a soldier,” the calm young elf said.  “What did that strange phrase you said mean?”

 

“‘Night elves watch the line,’” Loghain said, answering for Valendrian, giving back the same special salute.  “My first company in the Rebellion.  Your Hahren was one of the first men under my command.  One of the best, as evidenced by his survival.”

 

“General, allow me to introduce you to three of our young.  This is Shianni Imura, and these are Soris and Loghain Tabris, all cousins.  Um… Loghain is the son of Adaia Imura, General.”

 

“You… you knew my mother?” the calm young elf, Loghain, said, looking up at his elder namesake in some apparent awe.

 

Loghain nodded once, decisively.  “She was one of my later recruits.  A fine woman.  A fine soldier.  You have her eyes.”

 

The young elven man withdrew, uncomfortable, and the Warden leaned over to Loghain and whispered, “I think you just weirded him out.”

 

“So what brings you here, General?  Surely this is not a social call?” Valendrian said.

 

“Indeed no,” Loghain said.  “My companions and I are here searching Denerim for any sign or word of… shall we say, ‘unwonted elements?’  Elements that may have been involved in the conspiracy against me.  Basically, we’re looking for blood mages.  We don’t mean to disrupt the Alienage, but if we’re to be thorough we should at least look for clues here.  You know the district.  Any strange people hanging around, other than ourselves?  Any strange occurrences?”

 

“No, General, nothing attributable to blood mages,” Valendrian said.  “Just the usual trouble with cutpurses and elf-haters.  We’re usually able to take care of those problems ourselves, as long as we can keep our ‘justice’ reasonable.”

 

“I didn’t expect much more than that,” Loghain said.  “Still, is it all right if we look for ourselves?  Not in people’s homes, just around on the streets and back alleys.  We may find something.”

 

“Of course, General.  Our homes are open to you as well, if you think it necessary.”

 

“I’m certain it won’t be.”

 

Shianni poked the young elven Loghain in the back.  “Tell him about Arl Vaughan!” she said in a very loud whisper.

 

“Dalen, Teyrn Loghain has no jurisdiction over Arl Vaughan,” Valendrian said, frowning.

 

“Maybe so, but I know who does,” Loghain said, frowning as well.  “What has that little ass-wipe done this time?”

 

“There was an… _altercation,_ last night as the weddings of these two young men.  The young Arl came with two of his young noble friends, quite drunk, looking for… ‘fun.’  They tried to take the brides and some of the other young women of the Alienage,” Valendrian said.  “Shianni struck the Arl on the head with a bottle and knocked him out.  His friends took him away, but we’re worried about reprisals.”

 

“He intended to rape these women,” Loghain said.  It was not phrased as a question.  His eyes were glowing and it seemed there was a faint wisp of smoke coming from his mouth.  The elves all stepped backward and looked at each other but chose to say nothing.

 

“Yes, General.  He did.”

 

“Does he do this often?  Use your women to assuage his dirty urges?”

 

Valendrian sighed.  “Every so often, General.”

 

There was more than a mere wisp of smoke now.  “I’ll have his fucking head as a centerpiece on my dining table,” he said, rather calmly given the sheer outrage in every too-tense muscle of his face.  “He’s probably still sleeping off the knock-out and his hangover, but he’ll be here as soon as he wakes up, looking for a little personal revenge and his own brand of ‘fun.’  We’ll make sure he doesn’t get what he wants.”

 

Valendrian bowed.  “Thank you, General.  We welcome your aid in these trying times.”

 

“What about _our_ mission?” the Warden said, looking at Loghain.

 

“We can look around in the meantime.  The Alienage is a rather large area.  It will take us awhile to fully search it.”

 

“I want to help.  I know the area, and I can fight,” the calm young elf said.  “My mother taught me, before she… before she was killed.”

 

“You don’t have any weapons,” Loghain pointed out, and the young man hung his head.

 

“No.  No, I don’t.”

 

“He _can_ fight, though, General,” Valendrian said.  “He’s very good at it, for as young as he may be.  Adaia gave him your name and trained him in the martial arts because she intended for him to stand for our people as you stood for yours.”

 

“I tried to stand for all of us, Sergeant.  It turned out to be harder than I thought.”  He turned to the younger elf.  “What weapon style did your mother train you in?”

 

“Duel daggers, mostly, but I can also shoot a bow,” he said.

 

Loghain bent down and drew a pair of fine silverite daggers from his boot tops.  He handed them over hilts-first.  “Come with us if you want to, my boy, but know that there’s a big difference in training to fight and actually doing it.”


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little vengeance is wreaked against everyone's favorite Arl.

Soris and Shianni also opted to come along.  Shianni had a bow in a hiding place somewhere, but Cauthrien had to loan Soris her crossbow and teach him the basics of using it.  “Don’t put your finger on the trigger until you intend to use it, _don’t_ point it at anyone you don’t intend to shoot.”

 

Loghain nodded toward Shianni’s bow.  “Can you use that, or is it strictly decorative?” he asked.

 

She tossed her head, making the short knots of her hair bounce.  “Aunt Adaia didn’t just teach her _son_ to fight,” she said.

 

“Good.  All elves should learn to fight.  If people won’t give you respect, you should take it.”

 

“You want us to rise up against Ferelden?” Shianni said.

 

He laughed.  “I’d prefer you didn’t.  I think Ferelden can do something about the way humans and elves get along without bloodshed, but it wouldn’t be the first time I was wrong.  On the whole, however?  I doubt that things are going to change swiftly and peacefully unless the Chantry undergoes some major sweeping changes soon.  And if it does, the whole of bloody Thedas might just come crashing down on top of us.”

 

“If it weren’t for the bloody Chantry, we’d still have our own homeland,” Shianni said.

 

“Exactly,” Loghain said.  “People don’t want to lose their _‘connection’_ to their godhead, but these Priests and their so-called Divine, when they talk to the Maker he doesn’t talk back.  Neither does Andraste.  I think people would be better off if the Chantry folded and died, but they’d all fall into a bloody panic.  And I do mean _bloody.”_

 

The Warden was looking at him strangely, half-disgusted, half-intrigued.  The elves, with the exception of Shianni, just looked uncomfortable, like they expected the Chantry to swoop down on them at any moment and chain them to Catherine wheels for blasphemy.  Bethany tried hard not to hear it, and Hawke drank it in, agreeing with almost every word.  Aveline looked ready to faint.  Cauthrien had clearly heard it all before.

 

Loghain quit talking heresy and the air gradually cleared as they proceeded to explore the Alienage looking for signs of anything amiss.  They searched for several hours, in every nook, cranny, and abandoned warehouse, until the Warden began to complain that they needed to move on to other parts of Denerim.

 

“Not until his Noble Asshole comes back looking for trouble,” Loghain said.

 

“Well, when will that be?  He was drunk, he got bottled.  He might not get up for Maker knows how long,” the Warden said.

 

“He’ll be here.  He’s been insulted by someone he considers a mere plaything.  He won’t let that go for long.”

 

They continued their search until they heard screams coming from near the vhenadahl at the center of the district.  “That’ll be our bastard.  Come on, let’s get moving,” Loghain said.  He stopped suddenly and turned to speak to the elves.  “I know you probably all want a piece of the bastard, but I’ll ask you to leave this to me.  Denerim isn’t technically my jurisdiction, but things will go far more smoothly for all involved if this is handled noble-to-noble.  Particularly if the surviving noble is father of the Queen.”

 

“So what are we even here for, then?” the calm young elf said.

 

“Backup.  He’s got friends along.”

 

There were more screams, some from young children.  “We’ve got to get going!” Shianni said.

 

Loghain took off, charging like a bull for the center of the district with his sword in his hand.  The others had to run flat-out to catch up, despite their youth.  They were just in time to see Loghain burst into the Alienage center and bowl the young Arl over, setting the eight or nine-year old elven girl he was terrorizing free of his grasp.  She cowered in the shadow of the vhenadahl, too afraid to move, until an elven woman came and hustled her out of the way of the humans.

 

Loghain’s eyes were glowing again, and there was a small amount of just-visible  smoke rising from his snarling mouth.  Arl Vaughan lay in the dirt at his feet shaking his head and not quite certain yet what hit him.  His two friends eyed the angry, inhuman visage of the Teyrn and released the elven women they suppressed, backed away, turned, and fled with all haste for the High Market and safety.

 

“What?  What is the meaning of this?  How dare you, you… you… Teyrn Loghain?  What are you doing in the Alienage?  This is hardly a place for you,” Vaughan said, stammering as he realized with whom he was dealing.

 

“This is hardly the place for _you,_ you bloated toad-faced sniveling little _bastard,”_ Loghain said.

 

“I am the Arl of Denerim,” Vaughan said.  He stood up and straightened out his clothes, trying to make himself look and sound more important.  “This is _my_ jurisdiction, not _yours._ These are _my_ people, not _yours.”_

 

“Your _people,_ not your _toys,_ you little fuck.  How long have you been doing this, eh?  How long have you been coming here and using these women and these little girls to satisfy your evil vices?”

 

“You have no jurisdiction.  They’re _my_ people, it’s my _right_ as their _Lord --”_

 

Loghain picked him up and shoved him against the wall, the blade of his sword pressed hard against his throat.  “Don’t even think of finishing that fucking sentence, you fucking puke.  No law under the Maker gives you the fucking right to rape and murder Fereldan citizens.  Who the fuck do you think you are, some _fucking_ Orlesian marquis?  I’ve known for a long time what you were up to, _Lord Vaughan Urien_ , but I couldn’t ever prove it.  Your Lord father protected you.  But you’ve stepped in it now.  I’ve caught you bloody red-handed, and you’re not getting away with it any longer.”

 

“If you take me before the Landsmeet on such charges, they’ll laugh you out, no matter whom your connections are,” Vaughan said, and tried to sneer.  Hard to do, with a sword at your throat.

 

Loghain shook his head.  “I’m not taking you anywhere.”

 

He lowered his sword and dropped the man.  “I’m giving you a chance, Your Lordship, more than you gave these poor women.  A duel of honor, if you have any.  You and me, right here and now.”

 

Vaughan’s eyes grew huge.  He looked around for his friends, but they were long gone.  All that was left in the area was Loghain and his well-armed companions.  Vaughan gathered his contempt and straightened out his tunic again.  “I wouldn’t sully my blade with your peasant blood, Mac Tir.  You are not a _true_ nobleman.”

 

Loghain tossed his head in a sort of cockeyed nod that indicated either that he had expected that answer or understood it perfectly.  He sheathed his sword on his back and threw his arms out to the side and turned around in that grand stance, as though he were saying something to the audience that had gathered.  He left himself open, and Vaughan seized the opportunity.  He took a dagger from his belt and rushed him from behind.

 

In one smooth motion Loghain drew his sword and spun around.  “I gave you a chance to die like a man,” he said, as at the same time he lopped off Vaughan’s head.  Blood sprayed him from the severed arteries in a gush he completely ignored, except to swipe ineffectually at what struck him around the mouth.  He shook his head at the fallen body, then sheathed his sword again and grabbed the head by the hair.  “Ugly bugger in life, even worse in death, eh?  Look at that stupid face.”

 

Vaughan’s deathly expression could indeed be dubbed “stupid,” as his eyes were rolled back, his mouth was open, and his tongue was protruding slightly.  Loghain looked down at his grisly trophy and started laughing.  “That may just be one of the most satisfying kills I’ve ever made,” he said, once his fit of mirth passed.  “I regret that no one else got a piece of the rummy bastard.  Maybe you can all line up and kick the body?  Not quite as good, but… take what you can get, eh?  Those of you with weapons can stab at him.”

 

“You really hated Vaughan, didn’t you?” the Warden said.  “I’m not saying you’re wrong.  I hated him too.  But… what did he ever do to you?”

 

“To me?  Absolutely nothing.  But the ass-muncher was a fucking rapist from about age twelve onward, and his father knew and did nothing about it except protect him from his own laws and those of the Teyrnir and Crown.  I _hate_ fucking no-account bastard rapists.  There’s no _fucking_ excuse for it.”

 

His eyes were glowing again, just at the thought.  “Whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa, there, Big Fella, have a sugar cube, calm down.  No more smoke, the fight is over, you won, no one needs to die anymore,” the Warden said.  “Just cool down.  You’re rather scaring everyone right now, Glowy McEyeball.  Just how is it you do that smoky thing you do, anyway?”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Loghain said.

 

“I think the others do,” the Wardens said.

 

“It is… kind of an interesting tic,” the calm young elf said.  “Did you always do that?  I would guess that would help explain why the Orlesians are still so scared of you.”

 

Loghain gave them both a narrow look but said nothing.  He still held Vaughan’s severed head, so no one else seemed to feel much like speaking.  Finally, he said to the young man, “Your name is… well, you were… named after me, weren’t you?”

 

“Um… yes, Ser.  Uh, my Lord.”

 

“Your last name is Tabris, right?”

 

“Yes, my Lord.”

 

“I don’t think I could ever call anyone by your first name, young man, and I’ve never been much on nicknames.  Mind if I just call you ‘Tabris’ instead?”

 

“Er… whatever you like, my Lord.”

 

“I expect you’d have the same difficulty calling me by my proper name, but _please_ don’t call me ‘my Lord.’  If you insist upon a term of respect, ‘General’ works better for me.  I actually did something to earn that.”

 

“You’re not actually going to put that head on your dining room table, are you?” Hawke asked.  “It’s a little macabre for a centerpiece.”

 

Loghain laughed.  “No, of course not, though I confess I’d rather like to keep it as a trophy, or at least stake it up over the Alienage gates as a warning to anyone else who would think to prey in here for awhile.  But they’ll probably make me pay for his burning, or try to anyhow.  Somehow I don’t believe I’ll comply.  We’ll leave the body here for someone else to clean up -- I’ll take responsibility for any ‘damage’ it might take between now and then, but we’re off to the Palace to set the record straight about this.  Tabris, Shianni, I might need your testimony on my behalf.  Will you come along?”

 

They looked uncertainly at each other and then Tabris nodded.  Shianni nodded more reluctantly.

 

“Another detour?” the Warden said.

 

“You in a hurry?” Loghain asked.

 

“Well, I told my people to give me a couple of days before assuming I was dead…”

 

“We’ll get there, don’t worry.”

 

Loghain led the way toward the Alienage gate with a long stride, carrying the head by its hair in his left hand.  Elves came from their houses to watch them go and a few women stepped forward to kick and pound at the late Arl’s dead body.  The group passed Hahren Valendrian as they headed for the gate, and Tabris paused to speak to him.

 

“Why did you never tell us you were a soldier in the Rebellion, Hahren?” he said.  “All that time you were telling us stories of the glories of the human heroes, we could have been hearing stories of the _elven_ heroes!  How many elves throughout known history held a _rank?”_

 

Valendrian smiled, a little sadly.  “It is often difficult for those who were in war to speak of their roles in it.  Try getting your _namesake_ to say anything specific about what he did, and your mother never spoke of her part in the war either, did she?  I went from latrine-digger to soldier to resident of this Alienage basically overnight, and I never knew how any of it happened.”

 

“What did the General promise you, to get you to fight?”

 

“Nothing.  He never thought he had any power to promise anything.  He wasn’t a general then, not even a commander.  He just… asked us to help defend our homes, and we said yes.  Most of us died.  It was a tough job, being a Night Elf.  We were the Rebel Army’s first line of defense.”

 

“Why did he need elves?”

 

“For our night vision.  It’s far superior to human’s.”

 

“Didn’t you feel used?”

 

“He fought alongside us.  Took all the danger with us.”

 

“With human eyes?”

 

“I don’t know.  He could see very well in the dark.”

 

“But they didn’t glow?”

 

Valendrian looked at him significantly.  “Not that I ever saw.  I suppose if they ever did I wouldn’t have been too terribly surprised.  He was always… _different_ … from other men somehow.  And you’d better get moving.  They’re probably halfway to the Palace by now, and one thing you don’t want to be when Lightning Mac Tir is waiting for you is _late.”_

 

“Lightning?”

 

Valendrian smiled.  “Secret nickname.  We had one for each of them, Maric and Loghain, back then.  Maric was Thunder, Loghain was Lightning.  ‘Thunder and Lightning.’”

 

“I would have thought Loghain was more thunderous than King Maric.”

 

“When he spoke, yes, he spoke loud all right.  But you have to realize, thunder is merely a noise.  _Lightning_ does the work.”  Valendrian winked and disappeared into the crowd gathered around the Arl’s body to wreak vengence.  Tabris broke into a run to catch up with his companions, long since out of sight.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mage-hunting

If the Royal Guard didn’t like the idea of a man walking through the palace halls carrying the still-dripping severed head of the Arl of Denerim, they made no sound about it when they saw what man it was.  The Hawke sisters, Aveline, and the elves looked around themselves in awe as they took this, their first stroll through a Palace, but in truth, the Royal Palace of Denerim was somewhat underwhelming.  Built by Tevinters two thousand years ago, it was large, blocky, and dark, the way Tevinters liked things, and all statuary of dragons had long since been replaced with depictions of mabari hounds.  Hawke’s hound, Spirit, liked this very much, and sniffed these statues all over.

 

“Don’t you _dare_ raise a leg, you,” Hawke warned in a whisper.  “Come along, now.”

 

They followed Loghain’s unerring path through the antechambers to the Throne Room itself, where Anora sat with various nobles standing around looking decorative, serving no apparent purpose but awaiting, perhaps, their turn for their grievances and petitions to be heard.  Loghain awaited no protocol or procedure.  He pushed through the grand double doors, which rebounded against the heavy stone walls with a crash, and walked right in to the middle of the room.

 

“Your Majesty, I wish to bring to light an attempted murder.  The attempted murder of myself, by the Arl of Denerim, one Vaughan Urien Kendalls.  I encountered him today in the Alienage attempting to subdue and harm several young elven women, including an underage girl, and I challenged him to a duel of honor.  He refused.  I turned away and he attacked.”

 

“And what became of Lord Vaughan once he did this poorly advised maneuver?” Anora said, eyebrow cocked.

 

Loghain tossed his trophy to the floor at the Queen’s feet.  “There he is.  The rest of him remains in the Alienage.  The body may have… suffered some bruising, perhaps some stab wounds, maybe taken an arrow or two.  I don’t know.  In any event, I did it all.  You know how I lose it when someone tries to kill me.”

 

Anora shook her head and sighed.  “Poor Arl Vaughan.  Such an ignominious end.  Yet I find myself not terribly sympathetic; I know too much about his proclivities.  These people with you stand as witnesses to your statements as to how exactly it all happened to transpire, I hope, Father?”

 

“They do.”

 

“Very well, then.  I would say that you served your justice.  As Teyrn of Gwaren, he had no right to even speak to you in the manner that I am perfectly certain he did.  You had every right to defend yourself against his clumsy assassination attempt.  I thank you for coming forward with this.  Your honesty will go far with smoothing things over with other noblemen.  All that remains now is figuring out who is rightful Arl of Denerim.  Vaughan had no heirs, as far as I know.”

 

“Well, as you know, my dear, I have other things to worry about for the time being.  Sorry to leave you with another mess to clean up.  Figuratively and literally,” he said, with a nod at the head.

 

Anora smiled thinly.  “That’s all right, Father.  Ruling without your shoulder to lean on and your cold eye watching the players for me will be a good test of my ability to rule.”

 

“Been waiting for this?” he said, with an equally thin smile.

 

Her smile broadened.  “Let us say merely that it is an it is an advantageous situation for me, and I intend to capitalize upon it.”

 

“Teyrn” Rendon Howe stepped forward and bowed to the Queen.  “Your Majesty, if I may speak?”  Her mouth primmed up but she nodded graciously.  “As I am staying in Denerim at this time, it would be no great difficulty for me to take on the duties of the Arling in addition to my own duties at this time.”

 

“That would be… a great burden for you, ‘Teyrn’ Howe,” she said.  “You already have control of the Teyrnir _and_ the Arling of Amaranthine.”

 

“Would you rather handle it yourself?” Loghain said.  “Let him have it if he wants it.  No one else does.”

 

“I daresay quite a few want it, Father, but… very well,” Anora said, her pretty face grim.  “Arl… I mean, _‘Teyrn’_ Howe… the Arling is yours.  Until the proper heir is found.”

 

Howe bowed again.  “Thank you, Your Majesty.  I shall prove your trust is not misplaced.”

 

Loghain turned to his companions.  “I doubt Her Majesty will ask for witness statements, but if the nobility scream loud enough, she may have to.  You will give them if she does?”

 

“Of course,” Hawke said, and Bethany nodded her head along with her sister’s affirmation.  The Warden gave a cockeyed shrug and Cauthrien and Aveline both saluted smartly.  Spirit barked and wagged his stumpy rear-end.  Shianni and Tabris looked at each other.  Shianni shrugged.

 

“If you really think our word will help, General,” Tabris said, “we will give it.”

 

“Thank you.  In the current atmosphere, my title alone may not be enough to smooth this situation over.  Now let’s get out of here and get back to looking for blood mages.  Shianni, Tabris; will you be joining us, or shall we walk you back to the Alienage?”

 

“We’ve come this far,” Shianni said at once, but Tabris put his hand on her arm.

 

“Shianni, what if they actually _find_ a nest of blood mages?  We’re not ready for that.”

 

She shook him off.  “Come _on,_ Cousin!  What better opportunity are you ever going to have to prove yourself?”

 

He looked deeply into her eyes, then nodded decisively.  “All right, Shianni.  If you’re really set on this, I will follow you.  There’s no way I would let you go alone.”

 

She relaxed and clapped her hand to his upper arm.  “I knew you wouldn’t let me down, Cousin.”

 

“So you’re with us, then?” Loghain said.  Tabris turned to him and nodded.  “Good.  We could use all the help we can get.”

 

He turned back to the throne and bowed.  “Your Majesty, with your permission, we take our leave.”

 

“Since when have you ever asked permission to leave a King or Queen’s presence?” she said, grinning.  She waved him off with one hand.  “Go on, do what you’re going to do.  If I need those witness statements, I’ll send for them later tonight.”

 

Loghain bowed grandly, grinning in an oddly predatory way, and turned on his heel.  He led his companions out of the throne room, throwing the grand double doors open so that they again rebounded off the heavy stone walls.

 

“I’m not certain I could manage to pull open _one_ of those doors,” Bethany said in a low voice to her sister, as they slipped through the swiftly closing portal.  “He opens them from either side like they were woven of grass.”

 

“Well, no one ever said the Hero of the River Dane was a normal man,” Hawke said.

 

 _“He_ seems to think he is,” Bethany said.

 

“Well, he’s wrong.  He’s apparently inhumanly strong, his eyes glow and he smokes from the mouth when he’s really angry.”

 

“Yes… and don’t you think that’s really rather… _demony?”_ Bethany said.

 

 _“May_ be…” Hawke said carefully.  “But I wouldn’t just assume he’s a demon, either.  For all we know, he _always_ did those things.  We weren’t looking at him when he fought the ogre for us, or when he blew the darkspawn back with his battle cry.  Bethany, the man repels enemies with his _voice._ Can just _anyone_ do that?  It’s what he’s best known for.”

 

“I wish we knew more about demons, Sister,” Bethany said.  “And I’m glad Carver wasn’t here to see all of this today.  He’d have conniptions.”

 

“I’m wondering what he’ll say when he comes to and finds out I’ve gone with the Teyrn and the Warden on whatever big adventure it is they’re going on.”

 

Bethany’s dark brown eyes grew huge.  “What?  You’re leaving with them?  You can’t!”

 

Hawke shrugged.  “I have to.  I owe him.  Besides, don’t you ever want to get out, do things, see the world, have adventures?  Save Ferelden from the darkspawn?”

 

“If you’re going, _I’m_ going with you,” Bethany said.

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Where you go, I go.  Besides, it won’t be safe here for me without you or the Teyrn, now will it?”

 

“Well, there’s always Carver…”

 

“Yeah, when he’s not out getting drunk with his new _noble_ friends.”

 

“Maybe this ‘aqua lucius’ stuff taught him a lesson.  It certainly sounds evil.”

 

“He’ll probably recover and immediately go out and drink it again.”

 

“Maybe we should drag him along with us.  Mother will be fine at the Teyrn’s estate.”

 

“We might actually have to _drag_ him.  You heard what the Teyrn said about how long it will be before he’s lucid again.”

 

“The Teyrn can carry him, I’m sure,” Hawke said, and giggled into her hand.

 

“By the hair?” Bethany asked.

 

“By the ankles.  We’ll keep it civil,” Hawke said, and the sisters laughed.

 

Loghain led the group into a seedy back alley.  The group of thugs that met them there, looking for trouble, immediately disappeared into the shadows at the sight of him.  They discovered nothing in particular except the usual rats and filth in that alley, but in the next they found the stripped body of a dead templar, and nearby a journal detailing what he had uncovered; evidence of a nest of maleficarum in the very heart of Denerim.  It told of his incomplete investigation of a particular supposedly abandoned warehouse in the middle of town.

 

“Sounds like a promising lead,” Aveline said.

 

“I’d say,” Loghain said.  He pushed up from his kneeling position beside the templar’s body and stood.  “I think we should check it out.  This poor fellow’s beyond caring, but even if these mages don’t have anything to do with what happened, they don’t belong in Denerim if they’re actually blood mages, performing blood magic on innocent citizens.  We should finish his investigation.”

 

“You’re not going to just leave the body here?” Aveline said.

 

“We’ll tell the Chantry about it once we’ve found our mages.  They’ll send some templars to collect it.  Until then, he’ll be fine.  He won’t die any more than he has already.”

 

“Your sympathy is touching, my Lord,” Aveline said under her breath.

 

“And my hearing is pretty good, too,” he said.  Aveline’s face turned more red than her hair.  “And don’t call me ‘My Lord.’”

 

They proceeded into the city center.  “Carefully now,” Loghain said as they drew near the abandoned warehouse in question.  “I smell an awful lot of cooking smells coming from that place for it to be ‘abandoned,’ but our friend the dead templar didn’t say how far into his investigation he’d gone.  I don’t want to go bursting in ready to fight on a bunch of otherwise homeless, harmless squatters.  Templars can jump at shadows sometimes, in my experience.  I’d rather not do that myself.”

 

“You’re amazing, you know that?” the Warden said.  “One minute, a major asshole, the next minute, the nicest guy in the world.”

 

Loghain looked at her sidelong.  “No.  I’m just an asshole.  I’d rather not spend all my time rubbing it in, is all.  It’s a matter of necessity, not _typically_ of convenience.  There’s no reason for everyone in Ferelden to pay for my personality defects.”

 

“That’s surprisingly nice of an asshole.”

 

He shrugged and said nothing more to her about it.  “Cauthrien?” he said.

 

She saluted.  “Ser?”

 

“If I go in there straight away everybody, guilty or otherwise, is going to go right on the defensive.  They’ll scatter, or they’ll attack immediately.  You’re my second choice, but you’d probably put them straight on the defensive, too.  What do you think?  Risk someone else’s life on a brief reconnaissance mission inside the building to find what’s going on in there?  I don’t really like the idea myself.”

 

“I’ll go in,” the Warden said.

 

“Somehow I don’t think you’re quite subtle enough for a sting operation, Warden,” Loghain said.  She stuck her tongue out at him.  Loghain ignored her and continued to look questioningly at Ser Cauthrien.

 

“Well, I think you’re right on all points, Ser,” Cauthrien said.  You, I, and the Warden are not exactly cut out for in-the-city reconnaissance.  If this is the band of maleficarum responsible for the conspiracy against you they are likely well-funded by some higher power, which probably means mercenary protection, which probably means traps.  That rules out the mages as well.  We need a _specialist,_ Ser.  Hopefully they won’t have to go far before they can confirm that there are baddies hiding here, and they can come back and get the rest of us.”

 

Loghain nodded once, his mouth a thin, downturned line.  “That’s what I was thinking.  Didn’t want to say it out loud myself.”  He shook his head.  “Damn.  I don’t like it.  I think our ‘specialist,’ if we find one, will like it even less.”  He stepped over in front of the elven cousins.  “Adaia Imura was one of the finest reconnaissance specialists I’ve ever known.  Did she teach either of you any of those skills?  Stealth?  Trap-snapping?  Lock-picking?”

 

“A little.  Not much,” Shianni said.  “I think she tried to, but I didn’t listen very well.  I thought knowing how to shoot was all I needed.”

 

“She taught me,” Tabris said.  “I know those skills.  I haven’t had much call to _use_ them, but…”

 

“I’m not going to give you an order.  You’re not my soldier,” Loghain said.  “I’ll simply ask, and tell you straight out that it may very well be extremely dangerous in there.”

 

“Don’t do it, Cousin,” Soris said, shaking Tabris by the shoulder from behind.

 

“I’ll go in, Ser,” Tabris said.  Loghain looked hard at him with those cold blue eyes from under his dark black brows, then nodded.

 

“Good man.  Be as quiet as you can and try not to draw attention to yourself.”

 

Tabris found his way in through a broken window and crept into the seemingly abandoned warehouse.  He kept to the dark shadows, trusting to his brilliant night vision to scope out the darkened rooms.  There was no one in the warehouse, it seemed, but the smells and sounds of people living there were more and more obvious.  Finally he came to a room that was empty save for a tall wardrobe.  The room seemed to be the end of the warehouse, but Tabris was suspicious.  He examined the wardrobe and realized swiftly that there was a doorway behind it.  He attempted to shift the dresser, but it was too heavy for himself alone.  He found his way to the front door and out.

 

Loghain was leaning up against a nearby building.  He stood up straight when he saw Tabris leave.  “Yes?”

 

“No good.  I found a secret door but I can’t get to it by myself.  There’s a piece of furniture in front of it that I can’t move.  Not exactly the most professional way to hide your operation, I should think, but the point remains, they _are_ hiding, I guess.”

 

Loghain gave a slight sideways nod of the head.  “That sounds good enough for me.  We’ll still need you for possible traps.  My skills in that regard are rusty.”

 

“Of course.”

 

He turned towards the others.  “Anybody who has any doubts had better back out now.  Something’s going on in there.  It might be nothing, or it could be something very dirty indeed.”

 

Shianni gave a hard look and a questioning brow to Soris, who squirmed miserably and then nodded.  “I’m in.  I’m in,” he said.

 

“We’ll go in nice and quietly, or as quietly as we can at any rate,” Loghain said.  “We’re a fairly big group so we’re going to make a hellacious amount of noise just on general principles.  Just… walk softly and be alert.”

 

They headed through the front door in a line, Loghain first, and in the final room Loghain took the wardrobe and pushed it aside, revealing the door behind it.  “All right.  Tabris?  If you could move up here by me to watch for traps, I’ll keep you covered.  Carefully now, everyone: no telling what’s beyond this door.  Mages, archers: try not to hit anyone on our side.  Warriors, keep your swings controlled for the same reason.  We are likely to be fighting in tight quarters.”

 

Loghain opened the door, which led straight to a set of steep stairs.  The Warden crowded close behind him and Tabris and about halfway down, Loghain stopped and turned to look at her.  She paused and looked back at him.  “What?” she asked.

 

“Are you cold?” he said.

 

“No.”

 

“Scared?”

 

“No!”

 

“Then why are your teeth chattering?”

 

“I’ve never fought blood mages before!  I’m excited!  Come on, let’s get this party started!”

 

“So… you’re so bloody high-strung your teeth chatter when you’re excited?”

 

“Oh, come on, you can’t fool me.  You had a ‘first time’ once, too,” she said, with a grin and an elbow to his ribs.

 

“Just… pay attention to the task at hand, eh?” he said.

 

“There’s a tripwire at the bottom of the stairs, Ser,” Tabris said.

 

“Good eye.  Can you get rid of it without setting off the trap?” Loghain asked.

 

“I think so, Ser.  I’d stay back, though, just in case.”  Tabris crept down the remaining stairs and knelt by the hidden wire and carefully cut it with one of his borrowed daggers, flinching as the wire snapped.  The trap, however, was not triggered.  Tabris let out his breath and sighed in relief.

 

“You shouldn’t do these things if you’re not sure you can,” Loghain said.

 

“I know how,” Tabris said.  “It’s just that there’s a big difference between knowing how and actually having done it before.”

 

They proceeded on, and Loghain sent Tabris in to the first room to investigate for traps.  He was out in a heartbeat, ghastly pale and breathing hard.  _“Horns,”_ he said, between gulps of air.  Loghain cocked an eyebrow, but didn’t have to wonder at the meaning for long as a pair of beefy Tal-Vashoth mercenaries burst through the door with their swords out.

 

“Defend yourselves!” Loghain said, and levered an elbow hard into the nearest Vashoth’s nose, making it crunch.  He drew his sword and engaged the other blade-to-blade.  Tabris dodged out of the way and dodged back in for a quick stab in the gut when there was room for one.  Bethany sent a fireball at the bloody-nosed Vashoth when he tried to lop off Loghain’s head from the side.  Aveline bashed into him full-on with her shield before he stopped burning and knocked him off-balance.  Shianni took him out with an arrow to the forehead.  Loghain finished off his opponent with a thrust and wiped the blade of his sword on the fallen Vashoth’s broadcloth trousers.

 

“Anything in there worth checking out?” Loghain said.

 

“Just a game of Wicked Grace laid out on the card table,” Tabris said, taking another look inside.  “No other doors or anything.”

 

“Are there any bets laid out?” the Warden asked.

 

“Um, looks like it?” Tabris said.

 

“Pardon me,” the Warden said, and pushed past them into the room, where she proceeded to loot the gaming table and everything else not nailed down.

 

“You’re a thief?” Loghain said.

 

“I came from Ostagar with nothing.  No coin, no supplies.  I have to take any opportunity I can find or make for myself,” she said.

 

“I have plenty of both,” he said.

 

“Good for you, but that doesn’t really help me.”

 

“Independent sort, eh?  Well, I understand that.”

 

They continued their exploration.  Some of the rooms were empty, but Tal-Vashoth mercenaries, mabari, and the occasional blood mage hampered their progression considerably through the remarkably large building they’d found themselves in.  The purpose of this place could no longer be denied when they found large vials and even jars filled with blood and bloody sacrificial altars in some of the rooms.  Some of the jars were labeled with the names of some of Ferelden’s nobility.  They found a vial of Teyrn Bryce Cousland’s blood, somewhat dusty now with disuse, and another small jar labeled with Arl Rendon Howe’s name.  Loghain showed the Warden this, but she dismissed it with a toss of the head.  “That man is evil enough to do anything he’s done on his own,” she said at the sight.

 

“General,” Aveline said, “look at this.”  She held out a large jar with both hands, the kind of jar a merchant would bottle pickled vegetables in to sell in bulk.  This jar was filled almost to the top with deep red blood.  Loghain walked over to her and took it from her.  It was labeled.  The name on the label was his own.

 

“So.  These _are_ the mages that got to me,” he said, showing the others.  “Guess it took ‘em a bit of effort, if they needed this much blood.  Wonder how they got their hands on it?”

 

“Well, Ser, you do rather bleed a lot,” Cauthrien said.  “On the field, in the practice yard.  You’re hardly cautious with yourself.  All it would take is an unscrupulous healer or two.”

 

Loghain nodded.  “I suppose that’s true enough.  We need to destroy these philters and make certain we’ve cleared out these blood mages.  I also want to search this place thoroughly enough to see if there’s anything here that says who placed these mages among us.”

 

“Well, it looks like we’ve got a few more rooms to check,” the Warden said.  “Funny how they don’t run from us nor attack en masse.  They’d stand a much better chance if they’d just rush us in one big group instead of waiting for us to come to them room by room.”

 

“They probably can’t believe we’ve gotten this far,” Cauthrien said.  “After all, they’ve spent a great deal of money on mercenary protection.”

 

 _“Wasted,_ more like.”

 

“Templars doing investigations usually work alone or in pairs,” Loghain said.  “They probably figured by the time they had to worry about small armies they’d be long gone.  Tabris, take your cousin with the crossbow and look for hidey-holes in the rooms we’ve already cleared.  Look for anything documenting where these mages came from or who sent them here.”

 

“Yes, Ser,” Tabris said.  “Come on, Soris.”

 

The others proceeded onward into the final room, where they were met by several mercenaries and two blood mages.  It was a fierce battle, and the warriors took many injuries before it was over, but with the aid of Shianni’s bow and Hawke and Bethany’s magic, they were successful.

 

“I wish we knew stronger healing spells,” Bethany said, as she worked to patch up a burn on Cauthrien’s face and Hawke tended the wounds on the Warden.  “Or that we had that white-haired Circle mage from the Landsmeet with us, disapproving of us as she may have been.”

 

“We can manage, Sister,” Hawke said.  “Just concentrate as hard as you can.”

 

“You’re already better than anything I’ve got,” the Warden said, watching Hawke work on her.  “The mage that works with me doesn’t know any healing spells at all.  But she can turn into a giant spider!”

 

“And I can bring my giant _boot_ down on top of her,” Loghain said.  “What a useless waste of magical talent.”

 

“Well, she knows a lot of good spells, too,” the Warden said.  “She’s an offensive mage.  She’s an offensive _person,_ come to think of it.  She knows how to turn into animals because… well… animals are the only people she had to play with, growing up.”

 

“General?”

 

It was Tabris, at the doorway.  Loghain looked up.  “Yes, my lad?  You found something?”

 

“I’ll say.  Don’t know if it’s genuine, but it sure is interesting.”

 

Tabris came forward with a sheaf of parchments in his hand.  He passed them over to Loghain.  Cold grey-blue eyes scanned the words on each page swiftly and glowed brighter and brighter the further along they got.

 

“It’s a bloody Charter,” he said through his teeth.  “From Her Imperial Highness, Celene Valmont the First.  Seems to me like if you’re the _only one_ of something, you shouldn’t be _asshole_ enough to call yourself the First.”

 

“Are you sure it’s not forged?” Cauthrien said, very cautiously.

 

“No,” he said.  “But I shall be, as soon as I turn this over to the experts at Fort Drakon.  Come, let us get rid of all the blood we found.  We’ll tell the templars about this place: they’ll track down any blood mages we scared off.”

 

“What are we going to do with the blood?” Shianni said.  “Kind of… icky, isn’t it?”

 

“We’ll take it to the harbor, pour it into the sea.  I’d rather the sharks have it than risk any more maleficarum getting their hands on it somehow, working more evil with it.”

 

“How are we going to cart it all?”

 

“Hawke, will Spirit haul a dog cart?”

 

“Sure he will,” she said.

 

“Good.  I saw one sitting unused down the road.  Take Soris and Spirit and bring it back here.  It should be big enough to carry everything.”


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mostly chatter. A Zevon song, Thedas-era changes unauthorized.

“When you said you were going to feed that blood to the sharks, I didn’t know you meant it literally,” the Warden said.  “I’m glad no one fell in the water.  Some of those sharks were bloody _huge._ I thought you actually had to throw, something like, actual chunks of _meat_ into the water to attract sharks.”

 

“Not in Denerim harbor,” Loghain said.  “A lot of them live there.  Dangerous place to fall into the water under ordinary circumstances.  Water’s deep right off the docks.  All kinds of creepy, dangerous sea creatures out there.”

 

“Like what?” the Warden asked.

 

“Do I look like a scholar to you?” Loghain said.  “I just know all sorts of people fall into the waters here and never come back up.  Saw an oarfish, once, off the coast of Antiva.  Weirdest damn thing, looked like a sea serpent.  Some twenty or so feet long, bright silver with a long red fin down its back, and a red fan tail sort of like a cock’s comb on its head.  Sailors said they usually live in the deeps and they’re not seen near the surface often.”

 

“Are they dangerous?” the Warden asked.

 

“Actually, I don’t think so.  I think they eat plankton or small fish or something tiny and otherwise unimportant to people in the short-term.”

 

They came to the gates of the Alienage.  Loghain stopped there and turned to the elves.  “I thank you for your assistance today.  Adaia would be proud of you, just as I am.”  He offered his hand to shake.  They stared at it.  After a long moment, Tabris stepped forward and shook with him.  Shianni stepped up and shook next.  Soris couldn’t bring himself to step up.  Loghain pulled the purse of coins from his belt and handed it over to Tabris.  “It’s all I have on me right now.  Not exactly good reward for risking your lives, but all I can do for you at this time.”

 

“You’re going out somewhere to fight darkspawn, right?” Tabris said.  “Take me with you.”

 

Loghain paused and looked at him.  “Aren’t you a newlywed?” he asked.

 

“We never finished the ceremony.  The Mother was too rattled by Vaughan’s interruption.  Nessiara will understand, she wants to start a business with Soris’ fiancée, anyway.  She could get it established with my share of this money, and we could get married when I come back.”

 

 _“If_ you come back.  Darkspawn are dangerous,” Loghain said.

 

Tabris swallowed hard.  “I know, Ser.  But they threaten everyone, including this Alienage.  I want to fight.  I want to protect my people.”

 

“If you’re leaving, then I’m going along with you,” Shianni said.  “No one will miss me, anyhow.”

 

“You may find some in the Alienage who’ll argue with that,” Loghain said.  “I won’t stop you if you really want to do this, but go home and make your peace with your friends and families first.  Meet us at my estate tonight before six o’ the clock if you’re really set on this.  I’ll set you up with supplies.”

 

Tabris tried to give back his borrowed daggers.  “Keep them, my lad.  You’ll be needing them, and I’ve got more where those came from,” Loghain said.

 

“Can we stop by the Arl of Redcliffe’s estate and pick up Carver?” Hawke asked as they left the Alienage behind them.

 

“Most likely that would have to be literal,” Loghain said.  “Are you that worried about him, really?  He’s in good hands.”

 

“We’ll be leaving tomorrow.  If he’s even remotely lucid, we’ll want to be able to say goodbye.”

 

“You’re coming along?”

 

“Of course we are.  We’re your faithful apostates.”

 

“Are you certain you want to do this?  You barely escaped the darkspawn the first time.”

 

“Well, we hold grudges.  We want some payback, don’t we, Bethany?  And anyway, as I recall, _you_ were in that group with us, and just barely escaped, also.”

 

He smiled.  “True, but I’m old, and my life is mostly over.  It doesn’t matter much if I die.”

 

“Says the most important man in the kingdom,” Hawke said.  “Now, can we get Carver or not?  He’s a little stupid, but he’s our brother and we’re sort of obligated to love him.”

 

“All right, come on, then.  But I’m warning you now, if he pukes up on me, _you’re_ carrying his ass,” Loghain said, and diverted the party in the direction of the Arl of Redcliffe’s Denerim estate.

 

“You’ve changed, Sister,” Bethany said to Hawke as they walked side-by-side near the back of the party.

 

“How so?”

 

“You were always so… stiff and polite.  You’re loosening up a lot.  Teyrn Loghain’s influence, I suspect.”

 

“Probably so.  He’s very… free.  He doesn’t care what anyone thinks, he says what he wants to say and damn the consequences.  I could never be that way in the whole of my life.  I was an apostate mage, I had to be cautious, lest I give myself away, lest I offend.  Under his protection, I feel as though my restrictions are loosening.  I can be who I want to be.”

 

“Just… be careful, Sister.  He may not protect us from everything,” Bethany said.  “Including himself.  You didn’t even call him by an honorific, this time.”

 

“He truly doesn’t like it.”

 

“That’s what he says, but we don’t even know what he _is.”_

 

 _“You_ still believe he’s a demon,” Hawke said.

 

“I’m just… cautious.  I think you should be of anyone whose eyes glow.  What other explanation could you give for such a thing other than demon or demonic possession?”

 

“The Orlesians believe he’s a dragon.  Maybe they’re right.”

 

“Sister, don’t be ridiculous.”

 

“The Wilder Witch could turn into a dragon.”

 

“Yes.  And the operative word in that sentence is _witch.”_

 

“Perhaps Teyrn Loghain has latent magical powers that are finally coming to the fore.”

 

“If so, he’s likely to be just as dangerous as any demon,” Bethany said, with a furrowed brow and worried eyes.

 

“We can teach him to use those powers responsibly, just our father taught us,” Hawke said.

 

“Our father was trained in the Circle.  We are not so skilled.  We cannot take on a fifty-year old apprentice, even you’re right about this wild guess of yours.”

 

 _“I’m_ up for the challenge.  Could be fun.”

 

Bethany shivered.  “Well, you’re braver than I, Sister.  Just thinking what could happen if he turned out to have repressed magical powers makes me quake.  Even if he doesn’t become an abomination he could simply… I don’t know… _explode_ with unexpressed magic.  He looks like he’s more than halfway there.”

 

“Bethany, he’s been very kind to us.  Don’t we owe it to him to help him any way we can?”

 

“Any way we _can,_ Sister.  Can we really help stop an impendent disaster like this one?”

 

“We have to try, at least.”

 

Bethany sighed.  “All right, Sister.  I see your point, and I’m with you.  Just… be careful.”

 

At the head of the party, the Warden was oblivious to their discussion.  “Whose this Carver fellow, aside from the apostates’ brother?” she asked.

 

“A young man with a taste for parties,” Loghain said.  “He hit it a little too hard last night and took a drink of aquae lucidus besides.  I doubt he’ll be in any good condition to walk, yet.”

 

“Aquae lucidus?  Yuck.  I don’t know how anybody can drink that shit.  I like to party as much as the next girl, but wyvern poison does not appeal to me,” the Warden said, wrinkling her nose.  “Nor do the mental effects.  I prefer to sober up within a few hours, not a few days.”

 

“I should have brought the lad home with me last night, but I didn’t know then that I’d be leaving the city,” Loghain said.  “I prefer not to lug large lumps of severely inebriated beef on my shoulder if I can help it.”

 

“What do they call that beef from Rivain that’s fed on beer and rubbed in some sort of wine?  Kobe?” the Warden said, grinning.  “Ever had that?  I’ve heard it’s good.”

 

“Never had it.  By the price I’ve heard it commands, I’d never want it, either.”

 

“My father served it a few times at banquets, but these were banquets at which I wasn’t in attendance.  Fancy, impressive banquets I might have ruined with my… very existence.”

 

“I always heard from your parents how very proud they were of you, despite how… _unruly_ you could be,” Loghain said.  “Maric always liked you as well.  He thought you a bright, vibrant young lady-in-the-making.”

 

“I remember His Majesty fondly, though I can’t say I knew him well.  He had a very friendly sort of laugh.”

 

“Maric laughed a lot.”

 

She pointed to the black tattoo that swooped above her right eye and under her left cheekbone.  “He laughed when I got this, so hard I thought he’d have an apoplexy.  He was the only one laughing that day.  My parents were so horrified.  I was late for the Arl of Redcliffe’s Satinalia dinner already, wearing my tunic and breaches instead of the red velvet gown my mother had picked out for me, and I had a brand-new tattoo on my face.  Mother nearly died right then and there.  Father was so angry with me.  He said it made me look like a common sell-sword.”

 

“You really dwell on it, don’t you?  This is the second time you’ve pointed out the tattoo.”

 

“Does it bother you?  The tattoo, I mean, not me pointing it out.”

 

“No.  I kind of like it.  Matches your war paint,” he said, referring to her heavy makeup of blue eye paint and bloody red lip color.  She smiled brightly at him.

 

“So you don’t mind facial tattoos on women, then?”

 

“Not hardly.  My mother had one.  Not so bold as yours, but all over.”

 

“Really?  That surprises me.”

 

“A lot of women have them.”

 

“I wish my parents could have accepted that fact.  My father developed a sense of humor about it eventually, but my mother never got over her daughter having marred her face in such a way.  Not that my face was ever much to look at in the first place,” she said, not quite carelessly.

 

“Oh, I don’t know.  I think you’re rather a pretty young lady,” Loghain said, and she smiled brightly again.

 

“Honestly?  You’re not just saying that?”

 

“Of course I am.  You’re ugly as sin.  There’s a wart on your nose and your chin looks like an old man’s ass.”

 

“Oh, you,” she said, and slapped at his arm.

 

They reached the estate and Carver was hauled out to them, roughly one-third lucid, just barely capable of putting one foot in front of the other, not at all capable of keeping his balance.  Loghain looped Carver’s arm around his shoulders and held the young man up.  “All right, lad, walk with me.  It’s not far.  Don’t you _dare_ start singing or I’ll belt you one.”

 

Carver did nothing more than mutter about griffons and hippogriffs, so Loghain did not hit him, and they all made it to the Gwaren House estate without incident.  Walking through the doors of the entry, they heard the tinkling sounds of piano music coming from not terribly far distant.

 

“Hmph.  Sounds like they delivered that piano I ordered straight away,” Loghain said.  “Must’ve had one in stock.”

 

“Is that the elf who dined with us last night?” Hawke asked.  “He’s very good.”

 

“Yes, he is,” Loghain said.  “I don’t recognize that song he’s playing.  Must not have played it at the party last night.”

 

“May I say how strange it seems to me that you employ your own personal minstrel?” the Warden said.

 

“You may, and believe me, I’m with you on that one,” Loghain said.  “Let’s go see what he’s up to.  Perhaps he’s written a new song.”

 

“You consider it that important?”

 

“No.  But I am curious, and it is almost dinnertime, and he probably won’t come to dinner unless we bring him along with us.”

 

“Do you think it’s fair to him to make him eat at the family table when he’s so uncomfortable there? Hawke asked.

 

“He’ll open up.  _You_ did.”

 

They found piano and minstrel in the parlor, the young bushy-haired elf pounding away at the keys in a vigorous manner, oblivious to their approach.  Loghain tapped him on the shoulder and he hit the keys in a discordant slam-down of surprise and spun on the bench so quickly he nearly fell off.

 

“Easy, now.  Need some kind of belt to hold you on there, don’t you?” Loghain said.  “Didn’t mean to startle you, just wanted to know what you were playing.”

 

“Oh!  Oh.  Um, just… a little I knocked out this afternoon.  Um… I heard what happened, with Arl Vaughan in Alienage, today, and… I know his reputation, and what the nobility had to say about it, all his life long, and I wrote a little song about him.  It’s… it’s really not appropriate.  I never should have written it.  It was just a passing fancy.”

 

“Play it.  I’d like to hear it.”

 

“Ah… ah…”

 

“Go on, don’t be shy.”

 

Zevon turned back to the piano and stretched his fingers.  “All right, but you won’t like it, my Lord.”  He started playing the ribald melody over again.  Then he began to sing.

 

_“Well he went down to dinner in his Chantry best._

_Excitable boy, they all said._

_And he rubbed the pot roast all over his chest._

_Excitable boy, they all said._

_Well, he’s just an excitable boy._

 

_“He took in the 4 a.m. show at the Clarke._

_Excitable boy, they all said._

_And he bit the usherette’s leg in the dark._

_Excitable boy, they all said._

_Well, he’s just an excitable boy._

_“Well, he took little Suzie to the Arl’s salon._

_Excitable boy, they all said._

_Then he raped her and killed her, then he took her home._

_Excitable boy, they all said._

_Well, he’s just an excitable boy._

_“And after ten long years they let him out of the Home._

_Excitable boy, they all said._

_And he dug up her grave and built a cage with her bones._

_Excitable boy, they all said._

_Well, he’s just an excitable boy.”_

“That was horrible,” Bethany said.  “That was worse than any crime Arl Vaughan might have committed.”

 

“Really?  You think _talking_ about the things he did is worse than his having done them?” Loghain said.  “You have an odd way of looking at the world, girl.  I don’t think he ever built cages out of bones, but I wouldn’t entirely put it past him, and I think that’s the point.  He was a sick bastard, but he’s finally been brought to justice -- something that never would’ve happened if the rest of the nobility had been left in charge of things.  He restricted his crimes to _elves,_ after all.  Lives not worth looking after, in their considered opinions.”

 

“I liked it,” the Warden said.  “It was cheerfully macabre; I’ve never heard anything like it before.  Suits my mood as a Grey Warden perfectly.  Your minstrel wouldn’t consider coming along with us on our journey, would he, Lord Loghain?  I already have a minstrel on board, so we’d probably have some tension, maybe have to put up fencing in the camp…”

 

“Somehow I think minstrels could behave themselves better than small dogs,” Loghain said.  “That, however, would be up to Zevon himself, and I doubt he wants to rough it with darkspawn hunters.”

 

“You’re leaving, my Lord?” Zevon said.

 

“Tonight, after dinner,” Loghain said.  “We should be able to make it as far as the Warden’s camp while the moon is up, so they don’t go thinking she’s been killed and run off on her.”

 

“How long will you be gone, Ser?”

 

“Don’t know.  Probably a long time.”

 

“I… I would like to go with you, my Lord,” Zevon said, stammering just a little and wringing his long, thin hands.  “I can fight.  I was in the Rebellion.”

 

Loghain looked hard at him.  “I don’t remember you.”  
  
Zevon looked down.  “I… ran messages and dug latrines, but I was there.  And I’ve fought a lot since then.  I haven’t always been a minstrel to noblemen.”

 

“What do you fight with?”

 

“Daggers.  I know a lot about poisons, too.”

 

“Why do you want to come along?  Wouldn’t you be better off here, writing your music?”

 

“I do my best writing on the road, and an adventure may prove good inspiration.”

 

Loghain shrugged.  “Well, if you want to come along, I’ll not stop you.  Just think it over, all right?”


	11. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not a satisfying ending to a single story, but the story is not finished. It will continue soon in two pieces: A Bullshit Tale, Part the Second: The Blight; Loghain and A Bullshit Tale, Part the Second: The Blight; Envy. It's a Choose Your Own Adventure! I hope you will enjoy reading it almost as much as I will enjoy writing it in my manic haze of dementia.

“Ah! This is bad, this is very, very bad!  I never should have trusted to those blasted mages!”

 

“My beloved Empress, calm yourself, please! This is not the end of the world,” Celene’s advisor said, wringing his hands.

 

Celene spun to face him, almost spinning the golden mask off her face. She readjusted it before she spoke.  “Not the end of the world?  No, perhaps not, but it is the end of my great plan!  That stupid demon was supposed to destroy that hellish man and his daughter _only,_ not my beloved Cailan.  Oh, what a gorgeous puppet he would have made!  What a glorious legacy he would have given me, the Empress who brought the barbarian’s fertile farmland back into the Empire’s clutches!  Now Cailan is dead, the mages are either afraid to report in or are dead themselves, Anora is still in power and _that man_ may still be alive!  All my plans are in ruin!  I should have expected this the moment those mages suggested working with a demon!”

 

“All may not be lost. We don’t _know_ that Loghain isn’t dead,” her advisor said.

 

“Even if he is, what does it matter now?” Celene said. “Cailan is dead.”

 

“But if Loghain is, too, and the demon still lives, it may simply be biding its time, rebuilding trust until it may strike. Chaos may still reign in Ferelden.  Your chance may yet come, my Empress.”


End file.
